


Hypothetically: Life

by JenNova



Series: Famous Last Words [6]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon Typical Violence, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, M/M, Oral Sex, Therapy, Weddings, implied dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-03
Updated: 2012-12-18
Packaged: 2017-11-20 04:15:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/581210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenNova/pseuds/JenNova
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And this is how they found their happy ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Two Weddings, A Therapist and A Truth

**Author's Note:**

> I really did leave you guys hanging a lot longer than I meant to. Things suddenly became difficult on this story, which I rather think is because I don't want to say goodbye to it.
> 
> As you can see from the lack of warning for it there's no dub-con in this story. There is, however, some mentions of grief over a parent, mild wedding based panic and some canon-typical violence.
> 
> This is going to be two chapters (second is still in the works but shouldn't be long now) and an epilogue.
> 
> (BTW - this is the sort of series where you really need to start from the beginning, so if you've clicked here without reading others first I suggest starting at Hypothetically: Wolfsbane and working your way forwards.)

Derek spends the hour before his appointment with Anya figuring out a decent cover story for why he and Stiles have had sex five times. He needs the cover story because he knows he has to talk to her about what he's done – about the way Stiles keeps looking at him, the unhappiness that's settled over him like a cloud when they're together, the way Stiles has pulled back from him. The pack hasn't noticed yet but Derek knows they will if he can't figure out how to fix this.

There's a part of him that's saying the easiest way to fix this is to tell Stiles how he feels. The thing is there's also a part of him that _still_ says Stiles deserves better than him. He's trying to deal with it, he is, but he's in a place where he can acknowledge he's basically fighting against half a lifetime of self-loathing. Developing feelings for someone, someone as important to him as Stiles, isn't going to magically make those issues go away.

It's been a long time since Derek's felt this frustrated. Knowing that it's his own fault – not the monster of the week or because the pack's causing trouble – is making it about three times worse. He settles on telling Anya something close to the truth, something about fuckbuddies, and drives to her house. He sniffs the air when he climbs out of the Camaro and reassures himself that no-one's been here that shouldn't. Anya's office being in her house had been a major factor in choosing her right at the start – Derek's rarely had to interact with anyone other than her during his therapy.

He still doesn't trust easy.

When Derek knocks on the side door Anya answers quickly, her habitual smile of greeting flashing across her face. Derek returns it reflexively but knows it doesn't reach his eyes when Anya's smile instantly fades.

“Sit down,” she says, waving to the couch. She walks over to her chair and Derek sits right on the edge of the couch.

Anya notices.

“Something's happened,” she says. She doesn't pick up the notepad she normally spends their sessions scribbling on.

“I may have done something stupid,” Derek admits. It's the sort of thing he's always had trouble with outside of this room.

“Stiles,” Anya says, tilting her head very slightly. Derek nods. “Maybe you should start from the beginning.”

Derek eases himself back and tilts his head to look at the ceiling, takes a few moments to straighten his head out. He hears the leather of Anya's chair creak as she shifts, the dull throb of her resting heartbeat. He focuses on that and breathes.

“I was Stiles' first,” he says, lowering his head and looking at a point over Anya's shoulder.

“I assume by 'first' you mean -” Anya leaves the sentence open and Derek lets out a long breath.

“His first time,” Derek shifts his gaze to the bookshelf behind Anya. “His first kiss. All of that.”

“You've never told me that before,” Anya says, her voice low and soothing.

“I didn't know how,” Derek says, his eyes flickering to hers briefly. That, at least, is the truth. “He was seventeen.”

“I see,” Anya says, her voice free of any inflection that would indicate how she feels about that. “Why?”

“Why?” Derek meets her eyes again, brow furrowing.

“Yes,” Anya nods. “Why?”

“I – it was because -” _I'd been injected with a variety of wolfsbane that made me need to be fucked_ “- I don't really know. We've had sex five times altogether.”

“Were they all when he was seventeen?” Anya asks.

“No, only the first time,” Derek shakes his head. “The last time was three weeks ago.”

“What happened?” Anya asks. When Derek doesn't answer straight away she sighs and continues: “You haven't spoken about this before. This is your first session since the last time. So what happened that changed how you felt about talking about this?”

“I told him that we couldn't, anymore,” Derek says.

“Why?” Anya asks. Derek makes a frustrated noise and she favours him with a pointed look.

“Because I -” Derek stops and folds his hands together, squeezing so hard his skin goes white from the pressure. “I told him that it was keeping him from finding someone to spend his life with.”

“You've told me Stiles has had long term relationships,” Anya points out. “Do you think he's ended them for your sake?”

“No,” Derek shakes his head. “That's not -”

Derek goes quiet because he knows what Anya isn't saying – knows that the reasoning he gave Stiles was stupid and wrong, knows that's the real reason Stiles is practically avoiding him.

“I care about him,” Derek says, the words quiet – like a confession.

“You've always cared about him,” Anya says. “Be more specific for me.”

“I have -” Derek makes a noise and rubs his hands over his face. “There's feelings. I can't just – I can't keep doing this with him if I'm feeling something he isn't.”

Anya is quiet for a moment. Derek knows she's become used to reading between his words because pressing him too hard makes him stop talking. He tries to remember, sometimes, if there was a time when talking about things like this was easy for him. He keeps coming up blank.

“How do you know he isn't?” Anya asks at last, leaning forward in her chair.

“Isn't what?” Derek's being deliberately obtuse. Anya frowns at him.

“Derek,” she says, the tone lined with disapproval.

“I just do,” Derek says, shrugging. He doesn't mention the way he feels hollow over it.

“Did you ask him?” Anya asks, holding up a hand before he can respond and adding: “Did you tell him how you feel?”

“I – I couldn't,” Derek says, ducking his head. “I was afraid.”

“Afraid of what?” Anya pushes. Derek makes another frustrated noise.

“Of hurting what we are,” he says. “The p- the sort of family we've all become, a lot of it depends on Stiles. It wasn't always like that – that's not how it started – but he has all these connections to the – to everyone and I can't risk damaging that.”

“Is that all?” Anya asks, looking up from a note she's making.

“I -” Derek stops. He curls his hands into fists on his knees and wants to get up, walk out. He hasn't done that for years, though. It's disrespectful. “I don't like – I know that I'm _damaged_ and I can't see why he'd -”

He leaves it hanging and closes his eyes, draws deep breaths through his nose. Sometimes his appointments with Anya leave him feeling like he's gone ten rounds in the ring – today he feels like he's been hit by a train.

“Okay,” Anya says, her voice quiet. “I think understand.”

She's quiet for a long time after that and Derek focuses on the sounds outside the house; the cars passing by, a kid laughing a few houses down, someone cutting a lawn, running footsteps.

“You know I don't like telling you what to do,” Anya says. “I don't think that's healthy. Our appointments are about guiding you to the decisions you need to make, what ever they might be, and help you to feel comfortable with them.”

“But?” Derek asks, opening his eyes to look at her.

“But I think you're being an idiot,” Anya says simply. Derek's eyes widen in surprise. “I've listened to you talk about Stiles for years, Derek, to the point where I wondered how you developed such a co-dependant relationship with someone you weren't in a relationship with. I see now, now that I have the full details, that you pretty much _have_ been in a relationship with him for the entire time we've been seeing each other.”

“That's not -”

“Let me finish. It's not at all a conventional relationship, that much is obvious, but I think you're lying to yourself if you think he doesn't have some feelings for you too. I also think you're using your found family as an excuse, Derek, because it's always been clear to me that Stiles is most important to you – not your friends – and they've accommodated him over the years because of that.”

Derek wants to protest that but – it's true. Aside from Scott, for obvious reasons, and Lydia, who Stiles became close friends with in junior year, every other member of the pack _grew_ to like him, to accept his place. Derek even had an argument with Erica, Isaac and Boyd once, a long time ago, when they questioned Stiles' presence. That was after the Alpha pack and before Peter Again. Nobody argued after Peter Again, even if they didn't like it.

Stiles really wasn't that likeable back then. Neither was Derek, though, so it doesn't surprise him that they sort of gravitated together. Hindsight and all that.

“You told me once,” Anya continues, obviously reading something she likes in Derek's face. “That you thought Stiles saved your life when you came back to Beacon Hills.”

 _He did_ , Derek wants to say, _he literally saved my life_.

“How do you remember that?” Derek asks instead.

“I have an eidetic memory, Derek, and I make copious notes,” Anya says. “Do remember what you said?”

“Not – not really,” Derek admits. He knows he wouldn't have told Anya the truth but he can't remember how he talked around it.

“You said that for the first year you were back you felt like you were drowning the whole time,” Anya says and Derek has a brief flashback to the pool and Stiles holding him up. “Like you couldn't breathe. You said Stiles was the same, though you've never adequately explained how you knew that, and that if it hadn't been for him you would've given up.”

“He was relentless,” Derek agrees.

Stiles had gone quiet between Gerard and the Alpha pack but as soon as they'd finally dealt with Deucalion Stiles started _pestering_ him constantly. Derek never had space to worry about what would come next because Stiles, taking the few times Derek had given in and told him something as precedence, asked him more and more questions.

That was probably what started all of this.

“Stiles is important to you,” Anya reiterates. “I really think you need to -”

Derek doesn't get to hear what Anya thinks he needs to do because the long window to the left of him explodes inward. Derek moves instinctively, bracing himself over Anya's chair to shield her from the sudden arrival of two werewolves. So much for holding onto one last secret.

“Sorry,” he mutters before pushing Anya's chair hard across the wooden floorboards. Anya stifles a noise as the chair slams into the bookshelves behind her.

Derek turns, claws and fangs out, and sees the familiar form of Boyd engaged with what smells like an Omega. He sees instantly that the Omega is feral, its attacks vicious and fast, and waits to see if Boyd needs him. The snarling is startlingly loud in a room Derek's used to being quiet and peaceful.

The door snaps open hard enough to crack the wall and Stiles steps through. His eyes meet Derek's before he turns away to check on Boyd. Derek's heart skips a beat and he feels vaguely betrayed by his body. He schools his features into his usual blank mask and gestures for Stiles to stand beside him.

“Explanation?” he asks shortly. Stiles rolls his eyes at him.

“Your phone was off,” Stiles shrugs. “Good to see we're going back to your one-word-question days.”

“Therapy,” Derek says, waving a hand toward Anya. “And you're the one who's been avoiding me.”

“I know,” Stiles turns his head and nods to Anya over his shoulder. “I don't like being lied to.”

“Ironic,” Derek says, turning away from the fight. “Considering how often you've lied over the years.”

“I never lied to you,” Stiles turns to face him.

“Bullshit,” Derek snaps. “You know that's bullshit.”

“I never lied about something important,” Stiles corrects. His heartbeat is loud in Derek's ears, suddenly, and Derek realises the snarling has stopped.

“Boyd?” he says, turning away from Stiles' accusing eyes. Boyd has the feral Omega pinned to the floor, one large hand spread over the back of his neck.

“Tracked him coming into the territory this morning,” Boyd says. “We thought we had it under control but he dodged us and started chasing your scent.”

“Yet another Omega burning to take down the Beacon Hills Alpha,” Stiles sighs, stepping forward. He tugs a syringe out of his pocket and leans down to jab into the Omega's neck. “That'll keep him down for long enough to get him out of the territory.”

Boyd slings the Omega over his shoulder and stands. He gives Derek a pointed look over Stiles' shoulder and Derek feels his shoulders lift in tension. Stiles turns back to Derek and meets his eyes and the way they're shuttered, nothing in them but cool disinterest, makes Derek want to reach out and confess everything.

Anya clears her throat behind him.

“Derek?” her voice is calm, her heartbeat steady but a little fast.

Derek breaks the stare to turn to her, trying to think of an explanation that will make any sense at all.

“Don't,” Stiles says before he can open his mouth. Derek shoots a sharp look at him over his shoulder and Stiles shakes his head. “Seriously – what's the point? You can't explain this away.”

Stiles waves a hand at the window, which Derek will _absolutely_ be paying to replace, and gives him a Look. Derek folds his arms defensively but nods anyway. Stiles drops onto the couch and it makes something flutter in Derek's chest – Stiles is surprisingly good with people after they get the Big Reveal (Stiles' capitals, not Derek's), probably because his thinly veiled enthusiasm about the supernatural, despite the many times it's tried to kill him, puts people at ease. Scott's good at it too, all compassion and understanding eyes, but sometimes it needs to come from a human.

“Derek,” Anya repeats again, this time fixing an intent look on him to go with the name. Derek barely fights down the urge to wince.

“I'm a werewolf,” Derek says, ignoring Stiles' snort behind him. He can almost hear what Siles isn't saying ' _smooth, Derek_ ' because a few months ago he actually would've said it.

“Werewolf,” Anya repeats looking briefly at Stiles. Stiles must nod because some of the tension seeps out of her body.

“Fangs, claws, furry face,” Stiles says. “The whole thing.”

“And that was?” Anya waves a hand toward the window.

“An Omega,” Derek says, unfolding his arms. “A werewolf without a pack. They move around a lot – sometimes they're just looking for a pack, sometimes they want to take one.”

“By killing an Alpha?” Anya's eyes drift to Stiles again.

“Yup,” Stiles takes an obscene amount of pleasure in popping the 'p' at the end of the word. He's being an asshole and enjoying it. “In this case – that's Derek.”

“Your friends,” Anya says, eyes coming back to Derek. “They're all werewolves too.”

“Most of them,” Derek says. He waves a hand at Stiles. “Stiles, Allison and Lydia aren't.”

Anya nods and turns away. She drags her chair back into place and sits down, staring until Derek retakes his seat on the couch. He's so wrongfooted by this whole experience that he doesn't remember to keep distance between himself and Stiles when he sits. He feels Stiles tense slightly next to him, his leg flexing where it's pressed up against Derek's, and hates himself a little more. This hadn't been the plan when he ended the arrangement.

“I've always known that you were keeping something from me,” Anya says, idly drawing her pen back forth over her pad. “I could never figure out quite what it was because you were so truthful about everything you told me. I have to say that you being a werewolf, and werewolves being real, was not amongst the things I suspected.”

“It's a dangerous thing to know,” Derek says. “Once you know you can't unknow it – and there are people who would, and have in the past, use our human allies against us.”

“Hunters,” Stiles adds in. “Though it's not as bad as it has been. The future nuptials of our starcrossed lovers have kept most of them off our backs for a long time. Allison's Dad is scary in a genuinely creepy way. Especially when people threaten his daughter.”

“Didn't you put me in danger simply by coming here?” Anya asks. “Boyd – he said the Omega followed your scent?”

The words fit in Anya's mouth in a way Derek had never expected. He shouldn't be surprised, though, Anya's taken the worst of his confessions in her stride in the past.

“You're on the patrol circuit,” Stiles says and Derek feels his ears go hot. “Someone passes by every few hours.”

“Really?” Anya arches an eyebrow at Derek and Stiles stifles laugh beside him. Derek shrugs awkwardly.

“Derek?” it's Boyd's voice just on the edge of Derek's hearing. Derek tilts his head toward the window. “Can you send Stiles out? I need him.”

“Freaky werewolf hearing,” Stiles says when Anya shoots him a questioning look.

“Boyd needs you,” Derek says and Stiles favours Derek with a questioning look of his own. “He didn't say. Just that he needs you out there.”

“All right,” Stiles says, pushing to his feet. He turns to Anya. “It was nice to meet you. It'll sound cliché but I really have heard a lot about you. The whole pack thanks you for what you've done for Derek.”

“Well, I mean,” Anya blushes very slightly, deflecting, and Derek gets it. Being on the receiving end of an earnest Stiles is compelling. “I was doing my job.”

“Something tells me you've gone above and beyond that helping him out,” Stiles gives Derek a weighted look. “If you ever want someone to talk to – you know who I am.”

“Thank you,” Anya shakes Stiles' extended hand. “It was nice to meet you too, Stiles.”

Stiles picks his way over the broken glass and leaves without a backward glance. Derek tries not to feel disappointed about that.

“Well,” Anya says after a long moment. “That was -”

“I'll pay for the repairs,” Derek says, blurts really. “It was our fault.”

“That's kind of you,” Anya says, offering him an indulgent smile. “I was only going to say that that was very informative. I'm going to assume that reason you slept with Stiles was werewolf adjacent.”

It's like a dam breaks inside of Derek and he spends the next thirty minutes explaining all of it – Stiles' Sex Buddy System, the way they were the only ones who ever had to act on it, the times they did and why and, finally, what it was that pushed him over the edge into being unable to ignore his feelings anymore.

“But the feelings were there long before he saved the Millars' children, weren't they?” Anya asks when Derek winds down. Derek stares at his hands.

“I think they've been there longer than I can remember,” he says quietly.

“Look, this has all become a lot more complicated than it was,” Anya says. “So I'm going to take off my imaginary therapist's hat and give you old fashioned advice because at the moment it's hard to keep this separate. Tell him – just seeing you two together for a few minutes has shown me exactly how tense things are between you. He's obviously hurt, feels that you think you can't trust him with whatever you're not telling him, and that's going to be more damaging to your relationship than telling him how you feel is.”

“This seems unprofessional,” Derek says, looking at her with wide eyes. He's trying not to hear himself, so many years ago, shouting at Stiles that they didn't trust each other.

It was bullshit then and it's bullshit now and Anya's right. He's been an idiot.

“It's _wildly_ unprofessional,” Anya nods. “But considering my window was taken out by two fighting _werewolves_ today – I think I'm allowed a little lack of professionalism. I'm going to have to cancel the rest of my appointments today.”

“I'm sorry,” Derek says reflexively. Anya frowns at him.

“It's not your fault,” she says, stresses. The one thing she's being telling him over and over again for three years.

“I'm -” Derek stops himself from apologising again. “It's a little my fault. It won't happen again.”

“You can't promise me that,” Anya shakes her head. “That's not the way the world works. But, well, you have my consent to continue including me in your circuit.”

Derek smiles at that, at the slight bounce in her heartbeat, and she smiles back.

“Let me know when you've found someone to fix the window,” Derek says as he stands. “I was serious about paying.”

“I know you were, Derek,” Anya says, following him to the door. “Take care of yourself.”

“I'll do my best,” it's his habitual response and Anya laughs at it for the first time, probably realising why he always says it.

He's surprised when he reaches the pavement to discover that Boyd and Stiles are still there, the Omega slung into the back of a Boyd & Son truck, and they're not alone. There's another man with them – tall, brown-skinned and handsome – and he smells slightly of gun oil and the barest hint of wolfsbane. Derek's nose twists up at the scent, as it always does, but he's getting no sense of fear from Boyd so he forces himself to relax as he joins them.

He tries not to notice, as he walks up to them, that Stiles is leaning slightly into the stranger's space - his face open and laughing and his eyes sparking in that particular way they do when he flirts – and the stranger is more than comfortable with it.

“Derek,” Stiles says when Derek steps up beside him. “This is Agent Hafeez and, get this, he's a member of a newly set up FBI division that deals specifically with the likes of you.”

“Fringe division?” Derek arches an eyebrow and sees Stiles bite his bottom lip to hold in his pleasure at the reference. Hafeez rolls his eyes.

“Funny,” Hafeez says. “You must be Derek Hale.”

“Yes,” Derek looks at the hand Hafeez extends until it goes away. Hafeez's accent is the sort of carefully cultivated non-accent that all the feds Derek's ever met (he has a troubled past, everyone knows this) have seemed to have. It grates on Derek's nerves.

“I was telling Stiles,” Hafeez tilts part of a smile at Stiles and Derek's instincts flare in response. He frowns harder. “I've been pursuing this Omega across several states. He killed a family up in Oregon two weeks ago, cut across to Idaho and then looped back through Nevada and into California. I wanted to thank your pack for taking him down for me.”

“And take custody,” Derek adds when Hafeez doesn't say it. Hafeez nods.

“Look, this stuff has been getting out of control, lately,” Hafeez says. “Trouble spreading beyond the purview of the people who usually deal with it – the administration took notice and set us up. I know you're going to think I'm here to cause you trouble but I'm not. I'm just here to get some justice for the people who suffer the fall out.”

“Take him,” Derek shrugs. “We were just going to shift him out of the territory.”

“Thanks,” Hafeez says. It looks for a moment like he's going to extend his hand again but he adjusts to put his hand in his pocket.

Derek turns away because he can't actually deal with the steady flow of attraction coming off of Stiles. He nods once to Boyd and briefly squeezes Stiles' shoulder before heading back to the Camaro. He sits for a minute, breathing deeply and wondering if he should try asking Stiles out to dinner to start repairing what he broke when he catches a flash of movement in his wing mirror. He looks in it in time to see Hafeez pulling a card out of his pocket and writing something on the back of it before handing it to Stiles. Stiles flails a little in a calculated way, he's told Derek that he knows it endears people to him, and Derek's heart pounds in his chest.

His phone buzzes as he drives back to the house the long way and he ignores it because he has a terrible feeling about the message he's going to see when he checks it. In the end he doesn't check it until after dinner and then only because Erica yelled at him for not answering when she called to see if he could pick up milk on the way home.

It's pretty much exactly what he expected. A mass text. From Stiles.

**Got a date! ;)**

Derek curses the day he insisted everyone inform each other when they had dates outside the pack – it was worth it for the time they saved Danny from a shifter with a grudge, it's not worth it for the way Derek's heart hollows out at seeing it.

That phone was a year old anyway. He needs a new one.

–

Agent Hafeez's first name is Steve, after his British mom's dad, and he's _killer_ in the sack. It takes a lot for Stiles to restrain himself from telling everyone about this. Steve's actually the first SFBI agent assigned to California, hot off a year of retraining at Quantico and working out of the LA office. He tries to make it up to Beacon Hills every weekend when he's not working but the work turns out to be far more than the government had expected.

Stiles could've told them that.

They speak throughout the week anyway, Stiles ends up being paid as a consultant when his information saves Steve's life too many times to count, and Stiles really, really likes him. He hasn't felt this way since Kerri and, yeah, he's still a little shy of deep feelings because of a Certain Reason he doesn't think about – but it feels good to just be really into someone.

Someone safe.

He's not quite as angry at Derek as he was, and Derek is an _absolute_ asshole to Steve every time they meet, but he's still not happy. Not happy at all. And Derek knows it. Stiles misses the closeness but it's easier to bear with Steve around to distract him. Steve is easy to like and easy to be around and Stiles thinks maybe he's the best of humans and supernatural – he knows but he isn't one.

It's good. Good enough that one weekend Stiles rolls over and says:

“So, Boyd and Erica's wedding is in two weeks,” he stops and trails a finger over a cheekbone, defining the sharp cut of it above Steve's cheek. “How do you feel about being my plus one?”

“Really?” Steve's eyebrows raise.

“Yeah, why not?” Stiles shrugs a shoulder.

“Would they want me there?” Steve asks, narrowing his eyes.

“Of course,” Stiles says, knowing Derek _won't_ want Steve there. But he's ignoring that right now because Derek is being an old school dick and Stiles doesn't know why. “It's not just pack and family – they've got a lot of friends. Some of Boyd's NYU buddies are coming over and everything.”

“Well, then,” Steve says, leaning forward to briefly press his lips against Stiles'. “How can I refuse?”

Steve rolls them both over and there's delicious morning sex and Stiles likes it. He likes it a lot. It's simple and good and he doesn't have to worry when he's with Steve and, yeah. Stiles likes it.

Mr Boyd (“Call me Vernon, Stiles, please.”) stands as Boyd's best man, which Stiles secretly thinks is wonderful, and Derek and Isaac make up the groomsmen. Stiles maybe has to take a long moment outside the church when he sees Derek in the suit because he suddenly realises he's _never_ seen Derek in a suit and Steve's low whistle of appreciation highlights just how hot Derek looks.

It's a short and sweet ceremony and Erica is beautiful and Boyd can't stop smiling but it's Derek's face that gets Stiles the most. He's slightly red around the eyes and Stiles wonders, because he still doesn't know everything about the Hales pre-Fire, how many family weddings Derek got to attend and how many of those people aren't alive any more. Then his heart hurts and he looks away, leaning harder into Steve's side. Steve presses a reassuring hand to Stiles' leg and Stiles covers it with his own.

The party afterwards is not short _at all_ and Stiles loses track of time around his fourth beer. He dances with Erica and then cuts in on Boyd and Boyd's Mom to dance with Boyd. Boyd gives him the side-eye but Stiles doesn't care because he loves these people and he wants to dance with them. He's pretty sure he ends up in some weird three-way dance huddle with Scott and Allison at one point. Lydia consents to waltz with him once around the floor but Melissa dances with him for two whole songs.

He ends up dancing with Terry standing on his feet while Navin clings onto his back (he's barely left Stiles alone since the kidnapping, Stiles is apparently a hero) so that Indira and Sean can spend some time with each other. That's when he feels the unmistakable weirdness that is Derek watching him – a tingling right up his spine – and he looks up into a soft gaze that he still can't quite read.

(Or may be he can, a bit, but he can't quite believe it so he's reverting to his teenage years and ignoring it until it goes away.)

“Uncle Derek!” Navin shouts loud enough to makes Stiles' ears ring. “Come dance with us!”

“I don't think Stiles will want me to,” Derek says, his voice slightly cold even as he smiles at the kids with warmth. That coldness is Stiles' fault and he's had enough to drink to acknowledge he's tired of keeping up the cold shoulder.

“Come on,” Stiles says, holding a hand out and beckoning. “Who can say no to these faces?”

He knows from experience the exact faces Navin and Terry are making, because they've been used on him to devastating effect in the past, and Derek sighs audibly. He steps nearer and takes Stiles' hand, which still has Terry's hand wrapped up inside it, and puts his other hand awkwardly on Stiles' hip.

It's a shock of warmth through Stiles' shirt and _he's missed this_ , missed the casual way he and Derek used to touch each other. He lets a breath out and leans his head forward to rest his forehead against Derek's shoulder. He's suddenly very dizzy. Derek's grip tightens slightly and they manage some weird four person sway, Derek's shoulder rising and falling as he breathes. It's more intimate than it should be for something amongst friends, more intimate than any of the stuff they've had to do for each other over the years, and it seems to smooth something inside of Stiles that he didn't know had gone rough.

Indira comes over to retrieve the kids and gives Stiles a look that speaks volumes before leaving him with Derek. Derek shifts restlessly a few times beside him and Stiles watches him from the corner of his eyes. He wants to say something but doesn't know what until Derek huffs a sigh a turns to walk away.

“Stop,” Stiles says, hand catching in the fabric of Derek's shirt. Derek looks down at his hand, his expression unreadable, but Stiles doesn't pull away.

“What?” Derek asks when Stiles doesn't continue. Stiles meets his eyes and lets out a slow breath.

“I'm not going to apologise for being pissed at you,” Stiles says, flexing his grip on the shirt. “And I am still pissed at you. However – I've kinda hated the past few months, man. I miss speaking to you and hanging out and I just – let's be friends again.”

“We never stopped be friends,” Derek says, looking down and away from Stiles. “I thought you wanted space.”

“I did,” Stiles nods. “But not this much. You're – important to me, Derek. And I know, more than anyone, the kind of stuff that goes on in your head and, well, I guess I'm sure you have a good reason for not telling me what's wrong. For lying. And you're right – I really haven't got a leg to stand on re: lying.”

Derek shrugs away from Stiles' hand but that doesn't matter because he's looking at Stiles with something approaching the look Stiles had gotten used to. Stiles feels something unclench in his ribcage.

“We were up to season five,” Derek says, turning away. “I haven't moved on.”

Stiles smiles at the back of Derek's head, his heart warming. Steve's arms come around him from behind, hugging him tight for a moment, and Stiles leans into it.

“Fix your problem?” Steve asks, his breath ghosting against Stiles' neck.

“Patched it,” Stiles says before adding, because he loves mixing metaphors: “Full repair's gonna take a while. It's his turn now.”

“Good,” Steve presses a kiss to the nape of Stiles' neck. “Dance with me?”

“Why, sir,” Stiles turns in Steve's arms and bats his eyelashes at him. “I thought you'd never ask.”

Boyd finds Stiles before the last dance of the night and sits down beside him. Boyd hasn't stopped smiling since the ceremony and his smile is infectious so Stiles has barely been able to stop smiling too. The look he gives Stiles when he sits down is contemplative, the constant smile lurking about the corners of his mouth but not pulling into a grin.

“Derek seems better,” Boyd says quietly, nodding to where Derek's turning Erica around the centre of the dance floor.

“Yeah,” Stiles leans back in his chair and fiddles with his loosened tie. “We talked some stuff out.”

“Good,” Boyd nods. Stiles looks at him sideways, thinking.

“Do you know what he's not telling me?” he asks. It's not beyond reason, Boyd is Derek's second and Stiles knows Derek confides in him sometimes. He knows about the end of the arrangement.

“I have an idea,” Boyd says, sparing him a glance. “If I'm right – you don't have to worry about it being dangerous. It's just Derek being _Derek_.”

“Yeah?” it eases Stiles' heart a bit to know that Boyd isn't worried about whatever Derek's hiding.

“He'll tell you one day,” Boyd says, fixing his eyes on Stiles'. Boyd has powerful eyes, deep and compelling, and Stiles finds it hard to look away. “Be kind to him when he does.”

“Um,” Stiles rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “Okay?”

Boyd nods as if that's enough and reaches out to squeeze Stiles' shoulder before standing. He whirls Erica out of Derek's arms and Stiles watches them dance together, foreheads pressed against each other, and feels his heart ache a little. He wants that, he realises all at once. Not necessarily the wedding but that closeness – of loving the person who's closest to you, who knows you, all of you – and he's never really had it. Even with Kerri.

They pack Erica and Boyd off on their honeymoon – the one the pack pooled together to buy for them – and everyone starts drifting off to their homes. They brought Steve's car because he doesn't drink and they both knew Stiles would be in no fit state. Stiles leans his hands on the roof of the car as Steve unlocks it and his eyes meet Derek's across the lot. Derek holds his gaze then nods, once, and Stiles raises a hand in return, offers a little wave.

Things gets back to something close to normal after the wedding. Derek's still a little shy of touching Stiles but some of their old closeness is back. They pick up where they left off with Star Trek and that's a good thing because, in the run up to the end of the school year, Sunday becomes the only day Stiles sees the pack.

He's in the middle of grading the last round of papers before the end of the school year when it hits him that he doesn't really enjoy teaching the way he'd thought he would. He doesn't know what he'd expected but it wasn't this. He thought nothing could be more difficult than the couple years he spent helping out a bunch of teenage werewolves while trying to maintain his grades. He was wrong. Half of his students don't care or don't listen and the few who do aren't enough to make him happy.

He's not really sure why he's doing it.

“It was Mom that made me want to be a teacher,” Stiles, drunk, tells Scott on the night they're meant to be finalising _something_ for the wedding. They gave up part way through and Stiles broke out the good stuff – Scott couldn't get drunk, sure, but he could enjoy the flavour of a good scotch.

“Yeah, you said,” Scott waves a hand that encompasses their _entire childhood_.

“She made it sound amazing,” Stiles says, hanging upside down off his own couch. “The way it felt when you broke through with a student that was hard to reach. Or what it was like to teach people stuff and have them be interested. She didn't tell me about how shitty students are.”

“Dude,” Scott makes a reproving face at him and Stiles pokes his tongue out.

“I just – I think,” Stiles swallows and swings himself upright again. “I think she probably would've told me about this when I got older – if I told her what I wanted to be. She would've told me how hard it is.”

“You didn't know how hard it would be?” Scott asks. His tone suggests impolite things about Stiles' character if he _did_ think that.

“No, I knew it'd be hard,” Stiles says, shaking his head. “Just not – not _how_ it'd be hard.”

“So what are you going to do?” Scott asks, because he's Stiles' best friend and he's always one step ahead of Stiles' own knowledge of his emotions.

“I think I'm going to quit,” Stiles says. He says it slowly, feeling the words as they come out of his mouth. It feels like the right thing. “When the year's done. I mean – it was pretty much a trial year anyway, but I think Mrs Mahealani was, is, going to offer me a permanent position.”

“What will you do instead?” Scott asks, shifting beside him to put an arm around Stiles' shoulders and pull him in.

“Well, FMC is kinda doing _huge_ business,” Stiles admits, thinking of the bank account he and Danny share access to. “I can easily go full time on it.”

“Sounds like you've already figured it out,” Scott says, hand gripping at Stiles' shoulder.

 _Oh_. Stiles is shaking.

“Oh,” Stiles says quietly, feeling the tears prickling at the back of his eyes. “Oh, I'm quitting.”

“Yeah,” Scott says. Then he's shifting again to get both of his arms around Stiles and Stiles is crying.

He's saying goodbye, he realises, goodbye to the last piece of his Mom he was hanging onto. It feels awful and yet at the same time it's like a pressure has been lifted from his spine. Scott holds onto him until he's cried out and when Stiles gets back from washing his face the scotch has been put away.

“You want to help me choose from seven slightly different shades of white?” Scott asks as Stiles sits back down beside him.

“Sure,” Stiles says. “Let's do this.”

After five minutes Stiles bumps Scott's shoulder with his and Scott bumps a knee into his. Stiles smiles down at the practically indistinguishable colour charts.

The school year ends and Mrs Mahealani is sad to be losing Stiles but says she understands. She's been the principal since Gerard “vanished” and she already had twenty years of teaching experience at that point so she knows how hard things can be. Scott and Allison take him out after and he gets horrifically drunk because he doesn't have to worry about school anymore. It doesn't click until later that evening, when he's feeling sorry for himself in front of the TV, that's the first time he hasn't had to worry about school in twenty years.

Because he has more free time he's able to do more consulting for Steve – to the point that Steve's bosses offer him a job – which means he gets to see more of him. He still likes everything about Steve but he's a little worried that it doesn't seem to be more than like. They're coming up on six months around about the time of Scott's wedding and in Stiles' experience this is where his feelings normally start running deeper.

They aren't, though, and he's not sure what to think about it. He's never worried about this in the past but the sudden yearning for closeness he had at Erica and Boyd's wedding hasn't left him. He thinks Steve notices because he keeps catching Steve watching him thoughtfully.

Scott panics a week before the wedding, which Stiles has been expecting for a while, and Stiles calls Derek and tells him to bring the Camaro over. It's not the original Camaro, that died a glorious death around the same time as Gerard Again, but it's a recent model, only a couple years old. When Stiles noticed Derek was trading up every few years he'd asked why a Camaro and found out that the original Camaro had been Laura's car first. He didn't need to ask more questions to understand what Derek was doing, just gave him a hug and smile.

“Is Steve coming to the wedding?” Derek asks as they drive north, following his Alpha senses (“Do they tingle? Please tell me they tingle.”). Stiles looks across at him suspiciously but finds Derek's looking nothing but politely interested.

“Yeah,” Stiles nods, bouncing a leg as he texts Scott again.

“Serious?” Derek asks, still looking politely interested.

“I think so?” Stiles doesn't mean it to come out as a question and he winces. If Derek notices he doesn't say anything.

“I'm – happy for you,” Derek says, his hands flexing briefly on the steering wheel. “I know I've been an asshole -” Stiles snorts because he can't help himself and Derek shoots him a familiar glare “- I've been asshole and I'm sorry about that. I had some stuff to work on.”

“You want to tell me what?” Stiles presses lightly. Derek's quiet for a long moment and then shakes his head, eyes firmly on the road.

“It's not a problem,” Derek says. “I'd like to – start again. Invite Steve to dinner at the house after the wedding. We'll do it properly.”

Stiles can't stop the sharp breath he draws in at that. Invitations to the house are for partners packmembers are completely serious about – like Stiles had been with Kerri and Danny was getting with Firefighter Yun. He's grateful for it but it's suddenly even more apparent to him that he doesn't know if he wants it.

 _Shit_. Steve was supposed to be easy. What the hell is going on in Stiles' heart?

“That's great,” Stiles forces himself to say. “He'll really like that.”

“Okay,” Derek says and Stiles' body still flashes hot at that word in Derek's voice. He turns to look out the window to hide his flushed face, not that Derek won't notice it anyway if he wants to.

They find Scott at a road side motel about an hour north, freaking out in his tiny room. Stiles knows he should be more worried but Scott's panic is _so normal_ \- about not being good enough for Allison, about not being ready for the commitment – that he almost has to stop himself from laughing. From the way he sees Derek occasionally biting his lips to hide a smile he figures Derek's in the same place. They share a look of camaraderie and Derek does smile then and Stiles is blinded by it for a moment; the way Derek's eyes spark with it, the way his nose scrunches slightly and his eyes crinkle around the edges. Stiles has never been unaware of how attractive Derek is but right in that moment he wonders why he doesn't think about this all the time.

Derek is extraordinary.

Stiles' heart skips a beat and Derek cocks his head very slightly and Stiles covers by speaking right over the top of Scott's panicked rambling, burying whatever feeling it was that made his heart betray him. It takes almost an hour to calm Scott down and remind him that he and Allison have come through a lot to get to this point.

“She's not going to give up on you now, dude,” Stiles says, smiling half a smile. Scott smiles tentatively back and Stiles knows they've won.

Stiles drives Scott's car back, the Camaro's tail-lights glowing red in the dark ahead of him, and he consciously refrains from thinking about what had happened in the room. Scott drowses in the passenger seat, emotionally exhausted, and Stiles hates him a little for not being around to distract him. It's a much longer drive back.

Stiles drives Scott back to his Mom's, a house that's half packed because his Dad and Melissa are buying their own house together for after the wedding, and she tugs him in for a combined hug and scolding. Stiles drops Scott's car keys on the table by the door and leaves them, closing the door behind him. Derek is idling on the kerb and Stiles takes a moment to compose himself before sliding into the passenger seat.

The drive over to Stiles' apartment is less than five minutes and it passes in a comfortable silence. The radio is on low and Derek's tapping - along with what ever Top 40 song is playing - on the steering wheel. Stiles gets slightly hypnotised by Derek's thumbs, reminded of the places on Stiles' body they've touched. Derek had always touched him so carefully, even though sometimes it must have hurt to do so, and the thing Stiles has been skirting around the edges of for so long is not going to take Stiles' denial as an answer for much longer.

Stiles wants to blame this on not seeing Steve for nearly two weeks but he's knows it's more than that. Knows that it's probably got a lot to do with what Derek isn't telling him. He doesn't know what to do.

They pull up outside Stiles' apartment building and Stiles jerks his eyes away from Derek's hands before he can be caught looking.

“Thanks for that,” Stiles says, waving a hand over his shoulder. Derek nods.

“Of course,” he says.

“I mean it,” Stiles lifts his eyes to meet Derek's. “Thanks.”

“Yeah,” Derek says, something briefly passing through his eyes. “I know.”

Stiles squeezes Derek's hand where it's still resting on the gear shift. Derek looks down at his hand in surprise and Stiles wonders if this is the first time he's voluntarily touched Derek in a long while. He's feels bad, suddenly, and his heartbeat picks up. He takes his hand away to rub it briefly over his neck.

“So I'll see you on Saturday,” Stiles says, pushing the car door open.

“Yeah,” Derek says. His voice sounds far away, like he's thinking about something, and Stiles can't quite read what on him.

Stiles is a little ashamed of how fast he flees and he wonders if he's left Derek feeling as confused as he is. Thing is, Stiles thinks as he grabs a bottle of water from his fridge and downs it, he's a got a feeling that Derek hasn't been confused for a long time. Maybe he's been waiting for Stiles to catch up.

Maybe.

The wedding day dawns bright and hot and if Stiles seems more scattered than usual he thinks Steve puts it down to worry. It's not that at all, of course, Stiles has every detail of the wedding perfectly planned – Lydia's been one of his best friends for years, he's picked up her tricks. It's the Other Thing, that Stiles is trying not to think about until the wedding is finished.

“I'll see you at the hall,” Steve says, smiling at him easily as he adjusts Stiles' tie. “It's going to be great.”

Scott's Mom's family is pretty religious but Allison's isn't, unless you count relentless monster hunting as a religion, so the compromise is one of the nicer rooms at the City Hall and a minister from the church Melissa went to when she was a girl. Scott's Dad knows about the wedding but they've been assured he's not coming. Stiles hopes he doesn't – Scott doesn't need that.

Stiles stands beside Scott and tries not to get distracted by Derek's presence in the front row. Derek's wearing a midnight blue suit, so dark it's very nearly black, and a tie to match. It's a three piece suit and Stiles is idly wondering if he can convince someone to make that illegal because he thinks he might die from how attractive Derek looks in it.

The music strikes up and Allison, looking radiant, appears and everything after that is a complete blur. Stiles loses huge patches of the ceremony, even though he remembers watching closely to be completely sure Scott's all right. He shouldn't have worried, though, and the next thing he knows he's hooking an arm through Lydia's and following the newly married couple out of the hall. He meets Derek's eyes once and Derek mimes wiping his eyes. His smile is soft and almost sweet and Stiles' heart thumps in his chest. Lydia manifests a tissue out of nowhere and offers it to Stiles. He isn't crying, he realises, but his eyes _are_ watering a little.

He going to fall apart at his Dad's wedding.

Steve catches him outside the hall and they throw biodegradable confetti all over Allison and Scott, until they look like they've been through a miniature snowstorm. Steve tucks an arm around his waist and Stiles smiles across at him, doesn't think he's stopped grinning since 'You may now kiss the bride'. A hand brushes against his from his other side and turns his head to see Derek's grin and his own smile spreads to match it.

Stiles hasn't been this happy since he was a kid.

The reception is at the Hale house, tables set out in the yard for the family and friends, and Derek and Isaac have decorated everything in colours to match the wedding party. The food is catered by Lydia's older sister and is _delicious_ , of course, because both the Martin girls are amazing.

Stiles worked hard at his Best Man's speech – going and back and forth between serious and funny before finally settling on something. He's nervous, his mouth going dry as he taps on the side of a glass for everyone's attention.

“Hi,” he says, when everyone goes quiet. He looks around and meets various packmember's eyes, lingering a little longer on Derek's, before turning to smile at Scott and Allison.

“So,” he continues. “I could've written something funny – told embarrassing stories about Scott from when we were kids – or I could've written something long and boring with too many quotations from Shakespeare or whatever.

“But I haven't done that. My speech is pretty short and goes like this: Scott's been my friend since the day Jackson pushed me over in the playground and no-one else would help me up. He's my _best_ friend, and my first friend, and he'll probably be my last friend because, face it, these two are probably going to outlive us all.

“I was never jealous of Allison – and I was never surprised that she fell for Scott. I'm biased, I know, but Scott's pretty awesome and I always knew that one day he'd find someone who was just as sweet and kind as he is. They've had ups and downs but those ups and downs are what's made them strong. I'm proud to call them my friends and prouder still that soon Allison will be my official sister-in-law. Welcome to the family Allison and congratulations to the bride and groom.”

“To the bride and groom,” everyone toasts and after they've drunk Scott jumps up and hugs Stiles almost too tight.

“Wolfy strength, dude,” Stiles mutters when he swears he hears his ribs creak.

“Thank you, man,” Scott says, pulling back and gripping Stiles' shoulders. “For everything.”

There's murmurs of appreciation from various family members but Stiles knows that Scott's not just thanking him for the speech, or the wedding, or helping save his grades after the werewolf thing and getting him to vet school. Stiles nods to show he understands and Scott squeezes his shoulders once more before sitting down.

There's more speeches and then the werewolves clear the tables away after the caterers clean up and then there's more dancing. Erica and Isaac run playlists from a laptop hooked up to a couple of massive speakers and the party probably goes on longer than Erica and Boyd's did. There's no noise violations to worry about after all.

Steve's still suffering a twinge from an injury he caught a month ago so he only manages a few dances before he excuses himself and tells Stiles not to worry about him. Stiles dances with Scott and Allison individually and doubles over laughing when Danny cuts in on his dance with Scott for 'old time's sake'. Erica makes him tango her about to Roxanne, singing along loudly, and after it Stiles collapses at the nearest table.

He drinks someone's drink and closes his eyes, letting the sounds of happiness wash over him.

“Never thought we'd get here,” Derek says and Stiles opens his eyes to see Derek standing in front of him, watching Lydia dance with Navin. Navin has a crush on her and Stiles can't fault his taste.

“I know what you mean,” Stiles says, nodding to himself. “In between Peter Again and Gerard Again I really started to think none of us would get to twenty. And you wouldn't make thirty.”

“Are you happy, Stiles?” Derek asks, still not looking at him.

“I'm getting there,” Stiles says quietly. Derek nods and that's all that needs to be said.

“Dance with me?” Derek asks, turning suddenly and offering Stiles his hand. Stiles stares at it for a moment before shrugging.

“Sure, why not?” he says, taking the hand and letting Derek pull him up.

The song switches to something slow and Stiles is certain that's conspiracy but he finds he doesn't mind, really. He's never danced with Derek before, at least not without a couple of kids as a buffer, and he feels his skin heat a little as Derek's hand lands on his waist.

“You're leading?” Stiles asks as he grips Derek's other hand settles his other on Derek's shoulder.

“Of course,” Derek says, leaning forward a little and briefly flashing his eyes. “I'm the Alpha.”

Stiles buries his laughter in Derek's shoulder and lets Derek move them into an easy waltz. It doesn't quite fit the music but Stiles doesn't really care because it feels good, a moment for just the two of them, and Stiles eventually lifts his head and watches Derek's face. It's smoothed out, no sign of the worry he carries even in peace time, and there's the barest hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth – where Wendy's kiss would be – and Stiles feels an overwhelming need to kiss him.

Luckily the song ends before he can do anything _catastrophic_ like that and Derek lets him go. He raises an eyebrow at Stiles' elevated heartbeat, because he's never been able to shake the habit of tuning into his packs' heartbeats from all the years they were essentially at war, and Stiles gives him his best 'later' shrug. Derek nods and steps away, stooping to scoop Terry up before she can jump on him.

Steve looks thoughtful after they see Allison and Scott off and Stiles can't shake the feeling that something's about to change. Something big. They're staying in Stiles' room at the house because Sunday breakfasts are mandatory even if someone's suffering a wedding hangover, _Stiles_. The pack, excluding Jackson, Lydia and Danny, go back into the house but Steve walks over to sit on the porch-swing.

“What's up?” Stiles asks when he joins him. Steve's quiet, using a toe to set the swing moving.

“We need to talk,” he says at last and Stiles' heart drops a little, even if he'd sort of been expecting it.

“Yeah,” Stiles nods. “I figured.”

“You like me, right?” Steve says after another long silence.

“A lot,” Stiles nods again.

“And I like you, too,” Steve flashes a smile at him. “And here's the thing – I can see us, you know, our future. Buy a house, get married if you want, even adopt some kids, get a dog. It'd be great, we'd be great.”

“Yeah?” Stiles looks up because this actually isn't the way he thought this was going to go. Steve doesn't look like this is a good thing though. Stiles frowns.

“But Stiles – it wouldn't work out, in the end,” Steve says, holding up a hand when Stiles starts to protest. “Because you might love me Stiles, eventually, and I'd love you. But you'd never love me as much as you do your pack. And you'll never love the pack more than you love Derek.”

Stiles blinks, stunned, and lets out a shuddery breath. No-one's ever – there's been jokes here and there and there was that weird time Isaac suggested something around the incubus but. He's never thought about it like that.

He wants to say _of course I love Derek, he's my Alpha_ or _of course, they're my family_ but that's not it, when it comes to Derek, is it really? This constant warmth he feels around Derek, the way he missed him when they weren't really speaking, the way he looks at Derek and sometimes he can't breathe. That's not _I love my family_.

“Holy shit,” Stiles says quietly. Steve gives him a sympathetic smile.

“I figured, as I got to know you two, that you'd had something in the past,” Steve says, waving a hand. “I asked Boyd and he said you'd never been together, at least not like that.” Stiles winces slightly. “And I wondered if maybe you were hung up on him and I was your attempt to move on because he didn't feel the same. It became pretty obvious to me that wasn't the case when Derek was an utter asshole to me.”

“He wanted you to come to the house properly,” Stiles says, almost woodenly. “That's why you're invited to breakfast. He wanted to make up for his behaviour.”

“You didn't realise, did you?” Steve says, taking Stiles' hands in his. “Just how deep in denial are you?”

“I told myself once, when I was eighteen, that I couldn't risk it,” Stiles admits. “I didn't want to lose what we had and I was going to college and I thought it'd go away. I thought it had.”

“I was watching you tonight, when you danced with him,” Steve says, squeezing Stiles' hands. “You were lying to yourself.”

“Yeah,” Stiles thinks of the urge to kiss Derek, not induced by anything other than Derek looking happy and wanting to taste that. “I was.”

“I'll sleep in one of the spare bedrooms,” Steve says, letting Stiles' hands go. “You should speak to him tomorrow. You're not alone, you know, you can't see the way he looks at you.”

“How does he look at me?” Stiles asks as Steve stands up. Steve looks down at him and smiles sadly.

“Like you're the moon and no matter how hard he tries he'll never be able to reach you,” Steve says, running a hand over Stiles' hair.

Steve goes inside and Stiles sits there for a while longer. He doesn't really know how long but he tries to find Derek's stars in the sky while waits. If he knows Derek, and turns out he really does, it won't take long.

“You heard,” Stiles says when he hears the front door fall shut.

“I didn't mean to,” Derek admits, coming over to sit next to him. “But it's hard not to listen to you when I'm awake.”

“Oh my God,” Stiles says, turning to stare at him. “You can't just say things like that.”

“Pretty sure you've said that to me before,” Derek says, mouth quirking up for a moment.

“Go out with me,” Stiles says, before he can second guess it. “That new seafood place you want to try.”

“Okay,” Derek says, a slow smile spreading across his face. Stiles' heart skips another beat.

Derek puts an arm around Stiles' shoulders and pulls him in close, rocking the swing back and forth until Stiles falls asleep with Derek's scent in his nose and heartbeat in his ears.


	2. A Date, Some Old Friends and a First Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the happy ending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Also - good Gods this is so fluffy by the end I don't even know what to say about it. Sorry? IDK. Enjoy it anyway.
> 
> Note the added tags and the change of rating.

_Then_

It's been five weeks since the station and four since Jackson's unholy resurrection. Jackson is gone, Erica and Boyd are untraceable (Derek assumes the Alpha pack has them) and Isaac is spending a lot of time with Scott. Peter's lurking around the edges, his very existence making Derek's skin crawl.

Derek's sitting on the porch of the house, idly wondering if he should rebuild it or tear it down and build something new, when he hears the distinctive grumbling of Stiles' Jeep. He hasn't seen Stiles since the night at the warehouse, a night Derek doesn't like thinking about, and he's surprised to find himself actually interested in why Stiles is here.

God, he's bored.

He's standing up and leaning against a post, arms folded across his chest, when Stiles arrives and Stiles is restless and shifting when he climbs out of the car. He's in a t-shirt and no plaid and Derek's momentarily surprised by the way Stiles' shoulders fill out the shirt. He shouldn't be surprised, he thinks, given Stiles supported his weight in the pool for two hours – but there it is.

“What are you doing here?” Derek asks, frowning and Stiles stops his moving about.

“Why don't you tell me?” Stiles asks, confrontational. “Your beta is trying to steal my best friend.”

It's not like it doesn't irritate Derek that Isaac is spending so much time with Scott – he knows exactly what Scott is telling Isaac about Derek, knows it's the same stuff Derek's been telling himself for years – but he's not going to stop Isaac from hanging out with someone his own age.

He shrugs and watches the flash of fury that flickers behind Stiles' eyes.

“I can't stop him from being friends with Scott,” Derek says. He's almost hoping that Isaac can somehow convince Scott to join the pack – it's a long shot but Derek's been living by long shots for a long time. It's second nature.

“No, I guess you can't,” Stiles says, sticking his hands in his pockets. “You can't stop anything.”

Derek's immediate instinct is to snap at that but he finds his eyes lingering on the paling shadow of a bruise on Stiles' cheek. He knows logically that it's not his fault, Stiles isn't his responsibility, but he remembers the surge of anger when Isaac told him what Gerard had done.

He wonders at how easy it was for Stiles to forgive Scott for going behind his back. Is that best friendship? Derek doesn't really have something to compare it to because he wasn't great at friends in school, too aware of what he was hiding, and after the – well, he wasn't good then either.

“Why are you here, Stiles?” Derek asks, pushing his anger down. He realises he just sounds resigned now but he doesn't care. Stiles has pretty much seen him at his worst in the last few months – what's the point in pretending.

“I thought you could -” Stiles stops and Derek can almost hear him thinking. He thinks Stiles might have been looking for a fight. “I mean, maybe you could answer some questions? It worked out pretty well for us that one time you literally couldn't get away from me and had to answer.”

“I was paralysed,” Derek says flatly. Stiles waves a hand like ' _semantics_ ' and Derek's a little worried that he recognises the gesture.

“But it was easy, wasn't it?” Stiles says. “Sharing information. We should try to do more of it. Before more people end up dead.”

“Scott doesn't seem to care about _sharing information_ ,” Derek says and can tell by Stiles' flinch that Stiles hasn't quite forgiven Scott yet.

He's oddly satisfied by that.

“Interesting choice of décor,” Stiles says, gesturing toward the Alpha pack symbol still marring the door behind Derek.

Derek doesn't hide his flinch.

“If there's something going on you've got to tell us,” Stiles says, moving forward so he's standing at the base of the steps and looking up at Derek. “We're going to end up involved anyway. Scott can't help himself – gotta save everyone.”

“Remind me again how he got bitten,” Derek says when Stiles doesn't include himself. Stiles winces.

“More reason to tell me now,” Stiles says. “Don't want the fragile human going into things blind.”

“You'd go in anyway,” Derek says, moving down one step.

“Probably,” Stiles says with a shrug. “But I'm starting to think it'd be nice to be prepared for once. Probably easier on my ribs.”

Derek stares at him for a long time then drops down to sit on the top step. Stiles blinks at him, eyes wide, when Derek gestures for him to take a seat beside him.

“Did google throw up anything about Alpha packs?” Derek asks, neglecting to mention why he knows about Stiles' googling habits.

“Alpha packs?” Stiles says, freezing half way to sitting. Derek nods and Stiles sits heavily. “Packs of Alphas. How does that even work?”

Derek doesn't know much about the inner workings of Alpha packs but he knows enough to get started. Turns out telling Stiles is exactly as easy as Stiles had suggested it would be. Maybe Derek _can_ make friends.

–

Derek doesn't mean to but when he sees Steve leaving after breakfast the next morning he finds himself raising his voice and saying, “Thank you.”

“Weird,” Steve says, dropping his bag into the trunk of the car. “But I know what you're saying. No hard feelings, Derek.”

“I'm sorry,” Derek says, watching Steve lean against the side of the car and light a cigarette. Steve's head tips back and smoke curls in the air as he blows it out.

“I got in the middle of a giant love story,” Steve shrugs, looking down at Derek again. His mouth twists up. “Thought it'd be best to do the noble thing and step aside.”

“I meant – I'm sorry for the way I treated you,” Derek says. Steve looks at him with raised eyebrows before covering a laugh with a smile.

“I don't know why I even thought you'd be sorry about,” Steve waves a hand toward the house and Derek feels the back of his neck redden. “Of course you're not. I understand why you did what you did – I was the same over my first high school crush – at least yours likes you back. I just hope we can put it behind us. Having the Hales on my side is something my superiors would be impressed by if they understood anything at all about my job.

“So what do you say? Should we start over?”

Steve extends his hand and Derek looks at it for a moment before stepping forward and shaking it. Steve smiles and nods before bending to put his cigarette out against the rear tire. Derek steps back as Steve climbs into his car and rolls the window down.

“If you guys ever need a little extra help don't hesitate to call,” Steve says. He smiles again when Derek nods and with the muted rumble of his car's engine is gone.

Derek goes back inside the house and finds Stiles lurking just inside the door. The look he gives Derek is a lot of things, more than Derek can be bothered to untangle this early in the morning, and Derek just reaches out for his hand. Stiles blinks once before taking it, part of a smile pulling at his mouth, and Derek tugs him toward the study (which Erica has been calling their 'den' for years because the wolf jokes never get old with her).

He's not in the mood for his usual work and he joins Stiles on the couch; lying down and resting his head in Stiles' lap, his legs draped over the arm of the couch. Stiles goes with it, one hand sliding into Derek's hair while the other reaches for the remote, and Derek closes his eyes.

“Are we going to talk about it?” Stiles asks, his fingers making patterns against Derek's scalp.

“Wednesday, seven pm,” Derek says, pushing his head a little harder against Stiles' hand. He opens his eyes and looks up. “I'll meet you there.”

“Bossy,” Stiles says, tapping the remote against Derek's nose. Derek huffs out a laugh. “No, I get it, I know why. That sounds good.”

“Good,” Derek says. He shifts until he's got a good angle on the TV and, no matter what Stiles says later, he doesn't hum the Next Gen theme under his breath.

Three days is enough time for Derek to be nervous again.

It's not that he doesn't know how they both feel, or has a pretty good idea in Stiles' case, it's that this could still fuck up so easily. Okay, they haven't really fought in years, the first few months of this year the closest they've come, and he has it on good authority (Lydia) that they're already disgustingly domestic about each other.

No. Derek's nervous because going to dinner, _on a date_ , is such a normal thing and he and Stiles have _never_ managed normal. This whole thing between them has happened completely out of order and now they're having a first date about eight years after the first time they had sex.

So Derek's nervous. Nervous enough that he arrives about fifteen minutes early and can't even sit at the bar and drink his nerves away because a) werewolves don't get anything from alcohol and b) he can't stand the smell of it anyway.

“First date?” the hostess asks him as she leads him to their table.

“Yeah,” Derek mutters, sitting. The restaurant smells strongly of fish, which is right for a seafood restaurant, but there's something off-putting about it. “Something like that.”

“I'm sure it'll be fine,” she says, smiling widely at him. “You've brought them somewhere fancy, after all.”

Derek appreciates the non-specific pronoun but not enough to keep talking to the woman. Her smiles fades from genuine to disinterested when he shows no interest in keeping up the banter and she walks away. Derek distracts himself by unfolding and refolding his napkin, listening for sounds of Stiles' arrival.

“I can't believe you got here earlier than me,” Stiles says, five minutes after Derek's been seated. Derek looks up to say something and nearly swallows his tongue.

“What?” Stiles asks, looking down at himself in confusion.

Derek's seen Stiles in plaid and tees and shirts and jeans and a tuxedo and a suit and sweats and covered in blood and covered in undefinable goop and completely naked and he's _never_ looked as appealing as he does right now. It's not that what he's wearing is spectacular it's that he's wearing what Derek knows he refers to as his Date Clothes: dress pants, shirt with open collar and hair so artfully ruffled that Stiles has complained personally to Derek that it takes nearly an hour to achieve.

All this for Derek. Derek finds himself smiling helplessly as Stiles slides into the chair opposite him and Stiles matches the smile.

“Is it weird that I feel nervous and awkward?” Stiles asks after a long moment where they just stare at each other.

“No,” Derek says, thinking about the hour of pacing he'd done before he left the house. “It's not weird.”

“Oh, thank God,” Stiles says, slouching in his seat. It brings one of his legs against Derek's and Derek feels a flash of heat at the contact. “This is so weird.”

Derek's saved from responding to that by the arrival of their waiter. Like everything else in this restaurant the man stinks of fish and Derek has to rein his senses in in an effort to stop it from overpowering him. Stiles notices the way Derek's nose twitches and he makes a sympathetic face, bumping their legs together.

“Can I get you any drinks?” the waiter asks after he hands them their menus. Stiles orders two cokes while Derek tries to suppress the urge to gag.

He likes seafood, he does, but this place smells even stronger than these restaurants normally do.

“On reconsidering I figure seafood wasn't the best idea for a first date with a werewolf,” Stiles says, still wearing that sympathetic expression.

“Doesn't matter,” Derek says, relaxing now that the waiter's moved away. “Wouldn't matter where we went it'd still be hard to -”

He cuts himself off as Stiles' face lights up, his smile reaching up into his eyes and mesmerising Derek.

“Oh, don't stop,” Stiles says, leaning forward. “I love it when you say ridiculously romantic things completely accidentally.”

“It'd still be hard to control it,” Derek finishes and, though it should be impossible, Stiles' smile brightens further.

“Sweet talker,” Stiles says, tapping his menu against Derek's hands.

Kate had made him feel ashamed of the way he couldn't quite control his senses around her. He'd been taught iron control by his grandmother as he grew up – you needed it when you lived in a house of werewolves many of whom were consenting adults – but he lost a lot of that control when his feelings got strong. Peter, back when he was Uncle Peter who was cool and sarcastic, had said that it happened sometimes, when Derek asked him in a roundabout way.

Derek wonders if Peter ever put that conversation together with what Kate did and drew conclusions about it. He'll never know now.

The waiter returns with their drinks and some breadsticks. He takes their orders as well but Derek can't remember it once the words are out of his mouth. The nerves are back and making him twitchy.

“Hey, come on,” Stiles leans forward and squeezes one of Derek's hands. “Breathe, dude, we've got this. We know each other.”

“Yeah,” Derek says quietly. “Yeah, I know. I just -”

“Yeah,” Stiles squeezes his hand again and sits back. “I know too.”

Derek takes a drink and controls his breathing, focusing in on the steady, if slightly fast, beating of Stiles' heart across from him. It's always been soothing and that's just another reason Derek knows he's been in denial about his feelings for a long time.

“Tell me a story,” Stiles says suddenly, straightening in his seat.

“What?” Derek asks, feeling an eyebrow raise automatically.

“You've been on dates,” Stiles says, waving a hand. “You know how they work. We exchange stories, probably cute ones from when we were kids, and we get all endeared toward each other.”

“You know my stories,” Derek says and Stiles shakes his head.

“No – I don't even know half of them,” Stiles says, his smile going soft and easy. “And I don't mind that – I've always been happy to hear what you've felt safe telling me. But there's got to be one you use on dates – I bet little Derek was adorable, all scowly and pouting.”

Stiles makes a face which Derek assumes is meant to mimic Derek's scowl and Derek rolls his eyes at him. Stiles laughs, open-mouthed, and Derek loves that sound. Loves it.

“There's one,” Derek allows. “Normally I edit it for humans.”

“Well, you don't need to do that this time,” Stiles says, winking. It should look stupid but instead Derek finds himself hopelessly charmed.

His heart skips a beat and he fights an urge to put a hand to his chest and feel it.

“I got into trouble a lot when I was a kid,” Derek says, frowning at Stiles when Stiles snorts. Stiles looks contrite and makes a 'go on' gesture. “I was always climbing things that I shouldn't. Like the roof.” Stiles grins and Derek returns it. “I was a good climber – unless I got spooked.”

“So you got spooked?” Stiles asks, one finger idly sliding around the rim of his glass.

“Yeah,” Derek nods. “I was in the Preserve, running, and you've got to remember that we don't get the shift until puberty – we still have the strength and the senses but the ability to change isn't there yet. Suddenly I catch the scent of a mountain lion.”

“A mountain lion? Jesus,” Stiles shifts forward. “Don't tell me you say that in the vanilla version of the story.”

“I say dogs in the 'vanilla' version,” Derek hates himself a little for making the air quotes but Stiles smiles like he finds them delightful. “Mountain lions are faster than kid werewolves over short distances so I knew I had no chance of outrunning it when I could hear it coming straight at me. I didn't even think and went straight up a tree.”

“You treed yourself?” Stiles asks, covering his smile behind his hand. Derek rolls his eyes. “Oh, that's perfect.”

“Mountain lions are pretty good climbers so I had to go high enough that its weight would stop it from following me,” Derek continues, tapping a breadstick against his plate. “Which meant I went a lot higher than I usually do. Eventually it got bored and went away. That was when I realised I couldn't get down.”

“Fear response,” Stiles nods like he knows all about it. Which he does.

“I was stuck up the tree for seven hours,” Derek says, feeling his ears reddening from delayed embarrassment. “Laura was the one who found me and carried me down. Mom wasn't even mad – she just couldn't stop laughing. Laura got her sense of humour from Mom. They used to tell the story every Christmas.”

“Oh, God, that's completely delightful,” Stiles says, his body vibrating with suppressed laughter. “Little Derek stuck up a tree.”

“Laura would've liked you,” Derek says quietly, watching the way Stiles' eyes light up with laughter. Stiles sobers a little and presses his leg harder against Derek's under the table.

 _I'm here_ , the touch says and Derek really can't put into words how much it means that Stiles can read him like that.

“What story -” Derek clears his throat when it comes out a bit hoarse. “What do you normally tell on dates?”

“I've got three that I rotate depending on the person,” Stiles says, lifting his shoulders in an artless shrug. “You want to hear one?”

“Seems fair,” Derek says, taking a bite out of the breadstick.

“All right,” Stiles closes his eyes for a moment and Derek admires the sweep of Stiles' eyelashes against his cheek. He can do that now without worrying about how it makes him feel.

“All right,” Stiles repeats, opening his eyes and smiling. “So I met my best friend, Scott, in First Grade. He was a sweet kid, quiet, and I didn't really notice him that first day. I was sort of overwhelmed? I guess and couldn't really focus on much all day – there was too much newness. Anyway – we're both waiting for our Moms after school, not really paying attention to each other, and enter Jackson.”

“I didn't know you knew him that long,” Derek says, raising an eyebrow. Stiles snorts.

“I've known Jackson practically since I was born,” Stiles' hands flutter through the air. “His Mom was friends with mine. Pretty sure we hated each other on sight – by the time we got to high school I'd been told multiple times that Jackson wouldn't acknowledge me if I tried to say hi at school. Not that I actually cared.

“So, Jackson doesn't like me, right? On a playdate he once systematically destroyed every single block tower I built. His Mom would tell him off and then he'd just do it again. Here we are, all waiting for our Moms, and Jackson swaggers – which looked hilarious, by the way – over to start picking on me. I wasn't – back then, before Mom died -” Stiles' voice still hitches every time he mentions his Mom “- I was a soft kid, you know? Played with anyone who paid attention to me, liked everybody. Even Jackson.”

“You changed,” Derek observes and Stiles favours him with a slightly wistful look.

“I had to,” he says, hands folding together over his chest briefly. “I think you get that.”

“Yeah,” Derek nods. “I get that.”

“Jackson must've felt particularly shitty that day – and knowing what I now know about his abandonment issues I totally get it – because he was really mean,” Stiles turns back to his story, his eyes lighting up again. “I can see Scott watching out the corner of my eye, his face all squinted up and getting angrier, and when Jackson reaches out to poke me in the arm Scott is suddenly on him.”

“He attacked him?” Derek asks, eyes widening. Stiles laughs.

“ _Yeah_ , he did,” Stiles says, grinning. “I mean, it was more like he flailed in his general direction. But it was a enough to shock the hell out of Jackson. The teacher watching over us had to forcibly separate them. Jackson's Mom showed up and Jackson didn't say anything – because he's always been about image, I guess – and Scott sat down next to me.

“'You shouldn't have done that', I said to him 'that's just what he does all the time'. 'Not anymore,' Scott said, 'I'll protect you'. I mean, what do you say to that?”

“Do you want to be my best friend?” Derek guesses, picking up on where the story's going. Stiles smiles and nods, bouncing in his seat.

“That's why we've always got each other's backs,” Stiles adds. “Best friends for life and all that.”

“It must've been hard for you,” Derek says, snapping another breadstick between his fingers. “When he started hanging out with Isaac a lot.”

“I'm not gonna lie,” Stiles shrugs. “I was pretty freaking jealous for a long time. I think I rolled up to your house to shout at you about it once.”

“Yeah, you did,” Derek nods. “That's when I told you about the Alpha Pack.”

“Good memory,” Stiles says, impressed. Derek shrugs a shoulder.

“Kinda hard to forget you,” he admits, ducking his head. Stiles makes a strangled noise and his heartbeat skips and flutters.

“Oh my God,” Stiles says breathlessly. “You have seriously got to stop saying things like that. Accidental Romantic Derek is _killing me_.”

Derek is saved from replying by the arrival of their food and the unnaturally smelly waiter. It happens so quickly that Derek almost thinks he imagines it – a flash of anger across the waiter's face when he looks at Stiles – and he narrows his eyes. He tunes out Stiles' noises of enjoyment, they're not that much different to his sex noises to be honest, and tunes in to the waiter as he heads back to the kitchen.

“ _You're going to give us away, idiot, calm down. You're going blue._ ”

“ _I can't help it! He's just sitting there – eating like he's not putting every one of us in danger just by existing._ ”

“ _You can't do anything. The Alpha is right there. He'll rip you apart if you try. Wait for him to go to the bathroom._ ”

“ _I can't promise you. I just want to squeeze life out of him._ ”

“ _Would you put those away, Jesus Christ, do you want to get caught?_ ”

“Earth to Derek, come in Derek,” Stiles' voice cuts into Derek's eavesdropping and Derek blinks, shaking his head.

“Do you still keep that knife the Bay pack gave you on you?” Derek asks, watching as his words make Stiles shift from confused to hypervigilant. It's always there, just under the surface, but Stiles buries it most of the time.

He feels bad about that, always has since Stiles explained what he went through after the Station paralysis, and hates the pragmatic side of him that points out how many times Stiles' hypervigilance has saved their lives.

“Never leave home without it,” Stiles says, looking casually around the restaurant. “What's up?”

“I think some old friends of yours run this place,” Derek says. Now that's he's aware of it he can smell what the seafood smell is covering up – the overpowering scent of -

“Merpeople?” Stiles' voice goes up slightly too loud at the end of the word. “Are you _fucking_ kidding me? Can I not even have a date with the l- guy I really like without -”

Derek reflects that it's probably a good thing that Wednesday nights in Beacon Hills are quiet nights where few people go out because what happens next is not easily explicable. Their waiter – blue from head to toe and with tentacles for arms - bursts out of the kitchen with the high pitched screech only a merman is capable of making. Derek winces and covers his ears even as Stiles leaps to his feet, standing protectively in front of him.

Derek already knew he was irrevocably in love with Stiles but this moment pretty much cements it as forever for him.

“I just wanted -” Stiles is saying when Derek uncovers his ears “- one. Normal. Night.”

Stiles touches Derek's shoulder briefly before drawing the knife from a sheath strapped to his calf and moving forward to meet the merman. Startled screams and pounding footsteps signal the rest of the restaurant's clientèle getting the hell out. Derek shifts and moves around Stiles to meet the rest of the merpeople pouring out of the kitchen. He wants to tear them apart for threatening Stiles but he's tired of this vendetta and he's going to get some answers this time.

He takes a low stance, keeping most of his awareness on Stiles, and easily cuts through the merpeople, hamstringing a couple as he goes. The thing about merpeople is that they're _deadly_ in water, or nearby it, particularly if it's their territory but away from it they're clumsy and uncoordinated. Like seals, basically. Humanoid seals with blue skin and arms that shift into tentacles.

So not really like seals at all.

“You've really got to control that temper,” the one Derek heard before shouts at the one attacking Stiles. “It's going to get you killed.”

“Probably,” Derek agrees, coming up beside her and knocking her head against a nearby table. He does it hard enough to daze her but still flinches when he does it.

There's a screech behind him and he spins to see Stiles bearing the merman to the floor, knife buried up to the hilt in his gut. Derek idly grabs the merman approaching him from behind and tosses him over the bar - leaving Stiles' opponent as the only conscious merperson, though that's not going to last long.

“I am so fucking tired of this shit,” Stiles says, withdrawing the knife. “What the hell is wrong with you people? I never did anything to harm you. Well, you know, until you harmed me first.”

“He's Fae-marked,” the mermaid Derek thought he'd knocked out says, holding her head with one hand. “We don't get along.”

“You are shitting me,” Stiles says, his mouth dropping open as he stands. He absently wipes the weird merperson blood off on a table cloth. “You do know I told them where they could put their offer, right?”

“Everyone...gives in,” the merman, their former waiter, says from the floor.

“He won't,” Derek says, staring at the mermaid. She shrugs.

“We can't be sure of that,” she says, watching as Stiles picks his way through the detritus to join Derek.

“You have my word as Alpha of this territory,” Derek says, a growl edging his voice. “Stiles will never go – no matter how many times they ask. He's not leaving.”

Stiles looks at him, something impossibly huge and warming in his eyes, and reaches out a hand to Derek. Derek shifts back and takes it and the squeeze Stiles gives him eloquently says _I'm glad you finally believe me_.

“The Hale word has been good before,” the mermaid says, tilting her head to one side then wincing. “And you guys have done a pretty good job of keeping the territory safe. We have an accord.”

Merpeople are so ridiculously old fashioned but Derek shakes the offered tentacle, trying not to shudder at the slimy feel, and nods to the mermaid.

“Just keep to your territory,” Derek says. “And we won't have a problem.”

“Agreed,” the mermaid nods again.

Stiles tugs him out of the restaurant, their fingers still entwined, and they pause on the sidewalk. Stiles lets go of Derek's hand to bend down and sheathe the knife and Derek tilts his head back to look at the sky.

“There's nothing normal about us,” Derek says, watching a plane from Beacon Hills International as it passes low overhead. He looks down to see Stiles smiling at him and it makes his heart calm.

“I'm sort of hugely in love with you, man,” Stiles says and Derek ducks his head, a flush running up his neck.

“Same,” he says, lifting his shoulders in a shrug. Stiles hits him lightly on the shoulder then pulls him in for a kiss.

It's a simple kiss, hesitant almost – like they've never done this before. Derek supposes they haven't, really, and that thought makes him curl an arm around Stiles and pull him in close. Stiles makes a soft noise in the back of his throat and opens his mouth to Derek, their tongues brushing briefly together.

It's perfect.

“I figure,” Stiles says when he breaks the kiss and presses their foreheads together. “What's the point of a three-date rule when we've already had ridiculously hot sex? Hot sex under the influence, sure, but still. Hot. Sex.”

“Is this your way of sweet talking me into bed on the first – ruined – date?” Derek asks, trying to be stern but feeling one corner of his mouth twitching up without his input.

“I'm saying that I really don't care about doing this the 'normal' way anymore, Derek,” Stiles says, his hands tightening on Derek's waist. “I just want you.”

Derek's breath catches in his throat and he pulls back to look at Stiles – safe to name the emotion in his eyes as love – and feels whatever nerves he had left easing completely. It's just Stiles. Derek knows Stiles.

More importantly – Stiles knows Derek.

“Okay,” he says, leaning in for another kiss.

–

_Then_

It's totally not the time, Stiles knows that, the time is never when he and Derek are stuck together in yet another weirdly contrived situation while Scott is inexplicably having dinner with the Argents but his brain won't stop going. He kind of needs it to take his mind off the way he and Derek are so closely pressed together in the locked closet.

If Stiles hadn't come to terms with his flexible sexuality several years ago he'd want to make a closet joke so bad right now. Instead:

“So. Mates, that a thing at all?” Stiles asks, trying to pull back as much as he can and give Derek some space. He's probably getting his fear stench all over him but he can't help it – the Alpha pack Alphas are fucking terrifying.

“Is this really the time for questions?” Derek asks. His voice sounds pained and Stiles gets it – the closet door is made of ash wood and every time Derek brushes against it he makes this little involuntary whimper that makes Stiles' heart hurt.

“It's a distraction technique,” Stiles says. He's thinking he can maybe shift them around to put himself between the door and Derek but Derek keeps stopping him. “Keeps my mind off all the death I'm defying.”

“It's your fault we're in here,” Derek almost growls.

“I know, I know,” Stiles says. “But, I mean, okay, we can't get out? But at least they can't get in either.”

“And neither can _any_ of the people we know,” Derek does growl that. He doesn't do it often and Stiles suspects that's because he knows how ridiculous he sounds when he does it. He doesn't have the bass for it.

“Lydia will come through,” Stiles says, needing to believe it. “We're totally friends now.”

Derek doesn't answer and Stiles tries to move again only to find Derek's hands digging into his hips.

“Why do you even want to know?” Derek asks before Stiles can demand to know why Derek won't let him move.

“Scott's got this whole thing in his head about him and Allison being destined for each other,” Stiles says, his voice aimed somewhere at Derek's shoulder. “So I wondered if it was some mystical werewolf thing.” 

“Human hyperbole,” Derek makes a dismissive snort and Stiles tries not to gape at him. 

“Not gonna lie, dude,” Stiles says. “I think I'm a little turned on right now that you know that word.” 

“Stiles,” Derek sounds a lot like he's smirking. “You're _always_ a little turned on.” 

“I'm a teenager! What do you expect?” Stiles exclaims. He makes a point of pulling himself away from Derek because, well, he _is_ a teenager and Derek is attractive in an intimidating way and he's not going to be able to hide how his cock feels about that much longer.

“Mates really aren't a thing?” he asks, desperately hoping that werewolves can't smell arousal if they're not looking for it.

“No,” Derek says shortly, his hands relaxing their grip on Stiles now that he's not trying to move in front of him. “There's no hand of fate making Scott and Allison idiots about each other – that's just human.” 

“Okay then,” Stiles thinks for a moment, trying to come up with a phrasing that won't piss Derek off. “Hypothetical: a werewolf finds someone they want to spend the rest of their life with – do they turn them if they're human? Or does nature take it's course?” 

“I don't know,” Derek says before making a weird noise at himself. “Sometimes, I guess. My Mom turned my Dad.”

“Your Mom was your Alpha?” Stiles asks, his interested piqued. Derek doesn't talk about his family much – and it's normally only Laura when he does.

“Yeah,” Derek's voice is uncharacteristically soft and it does things to Stiles' heart. “She was a good one too.”

“I remember her when my – at my Mom's funeral.” 

Derek's silent for a long moment and Stiles thinks he might've said something he shouldn't have. He remembers Mrs. Hale only from that day, even though he thinks he must've seen her more than that, but he remembers her kindness.

“It was like she knew everyone in Beacon Hills,” Derek says at last. “She took care of her territory.” 

“Hey,” Stiles gets a hand up onto Derek's shoulder and squeezes. “You'll get there one day – you - I always remember her eyes – she didn't say she was sorry about Mom, she just gave me a hug and told me one day it would be better. I could tell she meant it because of her eyes. She made me feel safe. You have the same eyes.”

“I,” Derek stops himself, makes a noise like he's clearing his throat. “Thanks. Stiles.”

“Yeah,” Stiles is absolutely not getting choked up over this. “Any time.” 

Stiles tries to move again because maybe he's lured Derek into a false sense of security. He's wrong about that.

“Jesus, Stiles, would you stop?” Derek's frustration is clear in his voice.

“Come on, I'm trying to do you a favour here,” Stiles says. “I know that ash wood has got to be fucking you up.”

“You're not doing me a favour when _you're putting yourself in danger_ ,” Derek says, his breath coming in hard, fast puffs against Stiles' cheek.

Oh. Oh, shit. Of course. If Stiles is between Derek and the door and it's Deucalion on the other side when it opens he's basically put himself directly in the line of fire.

“Hey,” Stiles says quietly, reaching up to pat Derek's shoulder. “I trust you to save me if something goes wrong. It's your turn, it think.”

“ _Stiles_ ,” Derek's forehead drops against Stiles' shoulder for a moment before he straightens and his hands release their grip entirely.

“I've got this, Derek,” Stiles says, shifting them around so he's leaning against the door. He can almost feel Derek's relief at moving away from the wood. “Okay?” 

“Okay,” Derek says.

–

Derek closes the door behind them then presses Stiles gently back against it. They're at the Hale house because, well, it seems fitting – back where the whole thing started. Full circle. Derek's hands come up to cup Stiles' face and Stiles lets Derek look at him. He realises that he's never really seen Derek so bare. For all that Derek's opened up to Stiles over the years he's always maintained some sort of control – always held something back.

This is Derek holding nothing back.

Derek leans in and kisses Stiles, soft and chaste, and Stiles sighs into it, settling his hands on Derek's waist. Derek licks at his mouth and Stiles opens easily, drawing Derek in. The kiss is slow, like a low burning fire, and Stiles feels every part of himself slowly lighting up. Stiles has kissed a lot of people but no-one has ever made him feel the way Derek does.

They have so much time to make up.

Derek moves away from his mouth to make his way down Stiles' jaw, short presses of his lips and hints of tongue, before biting gently at the hinge. He kisses just behind Stiles' ear before making his way down the column of Stiles' throat, taking his time, and Stiles suppresses a moan. Stiles pushes Derek's shirt up enough that he can press his thumbs against Derek's skin, burning hot and inviting.

Stiles shifts as Derek puts pressure over his pulse point and something crumples and rustles behind him. It drags him out of the moment and he pulls away from Derek's touch.

“What?” Derek's eyes are terrifyingly open and honest on Stiles' and it takes a lot of willpower to stop Stiles from going straight back to kissing him.

“There's something -” Stiles stops and works a hand up behind his back. There's a sheet of paper stuck behind him. “There.”

He holds the paper up so they can both read it and ends up burying his laughter in Derek's chest.

 _Hey, losers, the house is all yours tonight_ is written in Erica's sloppy handwriting. Underneath is **PLEASE DON'T HAVE SEX ON THE COUCH :(** in Isaac's blocky capitals. Then finally _be kind_ in Boyd's looping script. Stiles knows that last one is for him specifically.

“I suppose we're just lucky they're the only ones,” Stiles says, letting the paper float down to the floor.

“Indira gave me a box of condoms this morning,” Derek says, his lips twitching up into a bashful smile. Stiles laughs again.

“Pack, man,” Stiles shakes his head. “What would we do without them?”

“Never would've found each other,” Derek says, eyes intense again, and Stiles' heart seizes in his chest.

“We would've,” Stiles says, cupping Derek's cheek and tracing a thumb over his stubble. “I have to believe that.”

“Now who's being romantic?” Derek turns his head and presses a kiss to Stiles' palm. “I told you there's no such thing as 'mates'.”

“No,” Stiles says, leaning forward to press their foreheads together. “There's just us.”

Derek kisses him again, puts his hands on Stiles' waist and guides them toward the couch. Stiles switches them before Derek can push him down and lets out a little huff of pleasure when Derek lets him. Derek sits and pulls Stiles down with him, watching him with intent as Stiles straddles his thighs. Stiles thought they'd be frantic – getting to do this clear headed for the first time – but he likes this better. This way they get to pretend, for a moment, that they're just like everyone else.

He doesn't want normal anymore – he just wants Derek.

He puts his hands on Derek's shoulders, maps the muscles there, and uses them to hold his balance as he leans in to capture Derek's mouth again. Derek opens up to him, drawing Stiles' tongue into his mouth and sucking gently. Stiles moans as Derek's hands land on his hips, index finger of each hand stretching up to hook into his pants.

They kiss leisurely, learning each other, and Stiles' thumbs stroke restlessly back and forth over Derek's clavicles. Derek's mouth is wicked and sinful, all lush heat and quicksilver tongue, and Stiles remembers the first time Derek kissed him – the determination to make it right. Stiles gasps a little when Derek catches his bottom lip between his teeth and it makes him press closer, try to get them flush against one another.

Stiles presses into Derek's mouth on an invitation he gives by a barely suppressed moan. Derek welcomes him, giving way and letting Stiles take control of the kiss; letting Stiles tilt his head back by pressing his thumbs just under his jaw, letting Stiles' tongue stroke against his, letting Stiles learn his mouth. Stiles secretly thinks he'll never be able to learn everything there is to know about Derek and he doesn't mind that – he's always been the researcher, after all.

“God, you're good,” Stiles says, breaking the kiss to simply breathe against Derek for a moment. “You're so good.”

“You're perfect,” Derek whispers back, sliding his hands under Stiles' shirt and up his back. Stiles can feel Derek tracing his vertebrae, Derek's fingers pressing gently against each curve of bone.

Derek makes him feel precious, something to be treasured, and Stiles can be honest enough with himself to admit that he's never had this with anyone else. They're give and take, push and pull, and this feeling isn't about Derek protecting him – it's about Derek making him understand how Derek feels.

Stiles can do that too.

He pulls back a little and reaches down to unbutton Derek's shirt, letting Derek shrug it from his shoulders. Stiles leans down to mark the line of Derek's collarbone with his tongue, smooth skin warm and perfect under his mouth, and Derek's fingers flex at his hips. Stiles wants to mark Derek properly, cover him in little patches of reddened and raised skin, but the healing won't let anything set. Instead Stiles closes his mouth of Derek's pulse point and sucks, moving with Derek when Derek bucks under him.

“St-stiles,” Derek trips over the name, his fingers digging into Stiles' flesh now. Stiles pulls away and watches the mark fade before looking up to meet Derek's eyes. Derek's staring at him with open want, his mouth slack and his pupils wide, and it makes Stiles shiver.

Stiles pulls his shirt off over his head, not bothering with the buttons, and Derek's hands are in his hair before he can even cast the shirt aside. Derek's been a little obsessed with Stiles' hair ever since he started growing it out in junior year – he used to make fun of it – and Stiles has absolutely no problem with that. Derek pulls Stiles back against him and bites his way into Stiles' mouth, tongue soothing over the stinging nips. Stiles rocks down against him and the hot, hard, line of Derek's cock makes Stiles moan.

“Jesus,” Stiles rubs his hands up Derek's sides to grip his shoulders before grinding down slowly. Derek's head falls back, his fingers still wrapped tightly in Stiles' hair, and his hips move up against Stiles'.

“Bed,” Stiles says, moving his hips in a slow roll. “We should take this to a bed.”

“Yeah,” Derek nods but doesn't move, instead drawing Stiles back in for a filthy open-mouthed kiss.

Stiles moans into the kiss and Derek swallows it down, finally releasing his iron grip on Stiles' hair only to move his hands to Stiles' ass. He drags Stiles against him and the friction is almost as awesome as the feel of Derek's contained strength in his hands. Stiles feels like his whole body is on fire and for once it's just Derek that's doing it – no outside influence at all.

They find a rhythm in each other, foreheads pressed together and gasped breaths shared between them, and it's exquisite but just not quite enough. Stiles doesn't want to come in his pants tonight. He likes theses pants but more importantly he really wants to get his hand on Derek's cock again.

“Stop,” Stiles says, belying the word by rolling against Derek again. “No. We've got to – I need to -”

“Bed,” Derek suggests and Stiles nods against him, rubbing his nose against Derek's before taking his mouth in another burning kiss.

“Okay,” Derek says when Stiles pulls back for air. He releases Stiles' ass and Stiles manages to stand on legs that are substantially less co-ordinated than when he straddled Derek.

Derek's hand finds the small of Stiles' back when he stands up beside him, offering small support without a word said, and Stiles leans back into it. They manage to make it up the stairs before Stiles can't resist any longer, pushing Derek back against a wall and nearly dislodging Erica, Isaac and Boyd's graduation picture. Derek winces when his head catches on the edge of the frame and Stiles cups the spot, turning Derek's head until he can press a kiss against.

“Romantic,” Derek mutters, burying his face in Stiles' neck and sniffing in a way that he probably thinks is subtle.

“Everyone knows kisses make it better,” Stiles says, shivering at the rough scrape of Derek's stubble over his skin.

Derek lifts his head to smile, the smile that's very nearly a smirk, and Stiles kisses it right off his lips. Derek laughs a little into the kiss and it breaks the intensity of earlier into a thousand pieces. Stiles doesn't mind because, to be honest, laughing Derek is his favourite kind of Derek. Derek hooks a hand around Stiles' neck and holds him there as he kisses him – short, open presses of his mouth that only serve to make Stiles' skin heat more.

“Bed bed bed,” Stiles says, tugging at Derek's hips.

“I'm not the one who pushed me against the wall,” Derek says, pulling back to grin at Stiles. Stiles scoffs but moves back, not hiding the way he watches Derek's ass as he follows him into the bedroom.

Oh, the things Stiles wants to do with that ass when not under the influence. Jesus. People should write odes to it. It's magnificent.

“Stop writing poetry about my ass,” Derek says, looking over his shoulder at Stiles and raising an eyebrow.

Stiles laughs, ducking his head, and when he looks up again Derek is shucking his pants and underwear. Stiles' laughter dies in his throat as he looks at Derek, at every inch of unmarred skin and sex-flushed flesh. Stiles wants to taste him all over and he doesn't even register moving – just finds himself kneeling between Derek's legs with Derek sat on the edge of the bed.

“You don't have to -” Derek starts, cutting himself off when Stiles takes Derek's cock in hand and strokes once, root to tip.

“I absolutely have to,” Stiles says. “You have no idea.”

“I think I might,” Derek cups Stiles' face with a hand and presses his thumb into the corner of Stiles' mouth. Stiles licks at it briefly, enjoying the way Derek's cock twitches in his hand, and grins. He leans forward and closes his mouth around the head of Derek's cock and _he remembers this_ , from the incubus, the heft and feel of Derek. He moans a little and Derek makes an abortive thrust with his hips.

“Fuck, Stiles,” Derek's words are breathy as Stiles moves down, slicking Derek's cock as far down as he can manage. He pulls up to focus around the tip, finding that spot just under the head that drove Derek crazy last time, and strokes the shaft with his hand. Derek hisses and spits out a handful of curses that go straight to Stiles' cock. It's not even a dirty talk thing – it is literally a 'Derek's sex voice' thing.

Derek lets Stiles tease him with his mouth, that hand still firmly pressed against Stiles' cheek so he can feel himself, and Stiles has to reach down to press the heel of a hand against his own straining cock. Derek makes a strangled noise as Stiles takes his cock down as far as he can, the head hitting the back of his throat, then tugs at Stiles' hair until he pulls off.

“Up,” Derek encourages Stiles to his feet and pushes Stiles' pants and boxers down with efficiency.

Derek bends his head and takes Stiles' cock into his mouth, sliding all the way down so smoothly that for a moment Stiles doesn't even catch on to what he's doing.

“F-fuck,” Stiles shudders, Derek's nose pressing into his pubic hair before he eases back, and he flails his hands out to grab onto Derek's shoulders. “Holy shit.”

It's not a new experience for Stiles but, as Derek goes down again, it's better than it's ever been because of the fucking _noises_ Derek makes. Wet and hot and underpinned with little desperate moans. Stiles could easily come from this and for a moment he seriously considers letting go and fucking into Derek's mouth the way Derek clearly wants him to.

Call him a romantic, though, but he wants this first time – this _real_ first time – to be face to face with Derek, he wants to see Derek's eyes as he takes him apart. He wants to shatter in Derek's arms and know that Derek's right there, crumbling with him.

“Derek, Derek,” Stiles slides his fingers into Derek's hair pulls a little, until Derek looks up at him. “I want to see you.”

Derek pulls off with the wettest pop Stiles has ever heard and nods, sliding back up the bed. Stiles strips his pants and boxers fully and climbs onto the bed after Derek, laughing when they both end up bumping into each other tumble together in a heap. Derek buries a smile in Stiles' hair and Stiles loves the feel of it.

“Come on,” Derek says, his breath warm against Stiles' ear. Stiles shivers and straightens himself out, slipping between the spread of Derek's legs like he's mean to be there.

Derek smiles up at him as Stiles braces himself over him. Stiles smiles back, feeling ridiculous, before leaning down to kiss him. He tries to make it soft and sweet but Derek gets a hand into his hair again and takes control, turning the kiss hot and dirty in seconds. He sucks on Stiles' tongue for a moment before licking into Stiles' mouth – it feels like he's trying to make a map and Stiles sure as hell isn't going to argue with him over it.

Derek's other hand wraps around Stiles' cock and, _yes_ , that will do nicely. Stiles sort of desperately wants to fuck into the tight heat of Derek, wants to know what it feels like when he's not a) terrified of fucking up or b) fucked up on some ridiculous sex potion, but they've got all the time in the world to relearn each other – this is perfect.

Stiles shifts so he's bracing himself on one hand and gets a hand around Derek's cock, still slick from his saliva, tries to match Derek's rhythm. He leans back from kissing Derek and looks at him again; those wide eyes, flushed cheeks, the open mouth and the soft moans. All of it for Stiles.

“You're beautiful, you know,” Stiles says, bending his head to lick and kiss along Derek's jawline. Derek lets out a breath.

“And you're perfect,” Derek responds, pushing his hips up against Stiles.

“Hyperbole,” Stiles tosses off and Derek laughs and Stiles feels the vibrations through his lips.

“Truth,” Derek says pulling Stiles up for another kiss. “I'll make you believe it.”

“Only when you believe you're worth it,” Stiles says, trying to kiss his faith in Derek into his mouth.

“ _Stiles_ ,” the name sounds like a blessing and a curse and Stiles meets Derek's wide eyes with his and _means it_ with every fibre of his being.

The talking goes after that, nothing but hot pants and bitten off moans between them, and Derek's hand on Stiles' cock is perfect and tight. Stiles shifts enough to bring their cocks together, linking his fingers with Derek's as they wrap around both, and swallows Derek's low moan with a kiss. It's hot and perfect and Derek thrusts up again him as he pushes down and Stiles is almost afraid he's going to lose his mind from this.

“Please,” it breaks out of Derek like he's been holding it in all his life. “Come on, Stiles.”

“Yeah, yeah, just -” Stiles twists his hand, thumb pressing where he knows Derek wants it, and Derek's whole body tenses up underneath him, his back arching and bring them closer together.

Stiles gets his head back in time to watch Derek's face as he comes, the pure bliss taking years off him, and the slide of Derek's come over his own cock is enough to carry him over as well – his orgasm punching out of him and making him rut down against Derek.

“Oh my God,” Stiles breathes out as he collapses against Derek. His body keeps twitching as aftershocks spark through him. One of Derek's hands is trapped between them but the other strokes up and down Stiles' back, soothing with a touch.

“Seriously,” Stiles says minutes or hours later. “Holy shit.”

Derek chuckles and presses a kiss against Stiles' temple.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice rough and as low it ever gets. (Which isn't really that low but, whatever, semantics.)

Stiles struggles against the lassitude setting into his limbs and rolls himself off Derek before they stick together. Derek looks at his hand curiously before bringing it up and licking their combined come off it. Stiles feels his cock give a valiant twitch and he rolls his eyes at himself.

“I need, like, an hour,” Stiles says, watching Derek avidly. “An hour tops, I swear, and then we are doing that some more.”

“You could fuck me,” Derek says casually, rolling his head over to look at Stiles. “I'd like that.”

“Jesus,” Stiles says, shaking his head. “You just keep saying things.”

“That's what people do,” Derek says, getting that asshole look that's so familiar from high school. “Say things.”

“You know what I mean,” Stiles waves a hand about. “Things that make me think my brain is going to explode.”

“Wouldn't want that,” Derek says, rolling onto his stomach and slinging an arm across Stiles' stomach. He props his head up on his other hand, the one that had been covered in their come, and looks at Stiles. “Not before you ride me, at least.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Stiles says, slapping Derek on the back. “Now you're just being cruel.”

Derek grins, the one that Stiles has seen directed at all sorts of people Derek was trying to seduce over the years, and Stiles discovers that it works as well on him as it does on anyone else. It's completely unfair.

“We are going to have so much sex,” Stiles says after a moment of staring Derek down. Derek nods, the grin only intensifying, and Stiles grins back.

He's about to say something about making up for lost time when his phone rings from somewhere on the floor.

“Don't answer,” Derek says, a hand curling in a proprietary way over Stiles' hip.

“I would -” Stiles says, moving out from under Derek's grip and scrambling over the floor for his pants. “But that's Steve's ringtone and, y'know, if there's supernatural trouble I'm kinda _always_ on call. Steve!”

“ _Hey, Stiles._ ”

“What can I do for you?” Stiles asks, sitting back on the edge of the bed. He feels Derek move up behind him, one arm wrapping around his waist and Derek's chin settling on his shoulder.

Jesus, it feels illegally good just to do this.

“ _So I know I'm breaking all the Ex Rules by calling you less than a week after we broke up but I have a feeling you're the person who can explain why I'm standing in a half destroyed seafood restaurant and looking at a group of injured merpeople._ ”

Derek muffles his laughter against Stiles' shoulder and Stiles reaches back to slap him on the hip.

“Yeah, about that -” Stiles gives Steve a brief rundown of their evening, leaving out the awesome sex out of courtesy, and tries to ignore Derek's mouth pressing kisses against his shoulder.

“ _Only you, Stiles, only you._ ”

“You have _definitely_ not known me long enough to have that attitude,” Stiles says, frowning at the wall.

“He doesn't need to,” Derek says at the same time as Steve says: “ _I didn't need to._ ”

“Neither of you are funny,” Stiles says without thinking. He winces immediately and holds his breath.

“ _Don't panic, Stiles, I get it. Would I prefer to know that you waited a little longer? Of course – I was envisioning ice cream and crying in front of romance classics to get over me. To be honest I'm just glad you waited as long as you did – I was half convinced you were going to start that night._ ”

“I've got some tact, you know,” Stiles says, resisting the urge to poke his tongue out at the phone.

“ _I have no doubt. I'm happy for you, I really am. But I will be taking it out on you by calling you with the tiniest little thing for the next few months._ ”

“That's fair,” Stiles says, shrugging because he realise does deserve it. “Goodnight, Steve.”

“ _Goodnight, Stiles. Remember – be safe!_ ”

Stiles hangs up on the sound of Steve's laughter and sinks back into Derek's embrace.

“Are you happy?” Derek asks, fitting his chin over Stiles' shoulder again.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, resisting an urge to press a hand over his heart. It'll do nothing to contain the contented thumping. “I am.”

“Me too,” Derek says, tilting his head enough to press a gentle kiss against Stiles' neck.

“We should probably clean up at least a little,” Stiles says, turning a little in Derek's arms. “Don't want to _completely_ scandalise the kids. We've got years to do it, after all.”

“False sense of security,” Derek says, one side of his mouth twitching up slyly.

“I knew there was a reason why I loved you,” Stiles says, leaning forward to taste that smile too.

“Thought it was my winning personality,” Derek says, pulling back and sliding around Stiles to get off the bed.

“Nah,” Stiles shakes his head. “I really only want you for that body. I'm shallow like that.”

“I love you,” Derek says and he looks a little scared when he says it and, yeah, Stiles gets that too. That's why they work.

“I know,” Stiles says, because he really can't resist. Derek rolls his eyes at him but Stiles doesn't miss the brief flicker of gratitude in them. Stiles grabs one of Derek's hands and squeezes, warmed through when Derek squeezes back.

They shower together and only get distracted by about five minutes of making out. Stiles feels a lot like he did when he was just starting in the world of grown up sex – constantly flushed and excited – but he's okay with it because Derek is clearly the same. They fall into bed still kissing, still exploring each other's bodies with their hands, and Stiles doesn't ever want to leave this moment.

They end up falling asleep before either of them are ready for round two but as it's not like they don't have the time, that's okay. All of the time is theirs. Stiles thinks he may be a little punch drunk on love and that's awesome because this is another first for him – this constant feeling of quiet joy cut with lust – and he's thrilled to be sharing it with Derek.

He's woken by an anguished shout, Isaac's, and Derek's barely contained laughter.

“He found the couch?” Stiles asks, voice sleep rough. Derek's eyes snap to his as he smiles.

“Yeah,” Derek rolls over on top of Stiles and buries his face in his neck, nose digging in as he sniffs at him.

“It smells bad even though we didn't fuck there, doesn't it?” Stiles asks, gasping out a breath when Derek drags his teeth over Stiles' collarbone.

“Enough for him to notice,” Derek mouths at Stiles' neck before sliding down under the covers. Stiles spreads his legs for him and stretches his hands up above him, fingers brushing the wall.

“YOU GUYS SUCK!” Isaac shouts loud enough for Stiles to hear and Stiles doubles over in laughter because the universe's comic timing is perfect, Derek's mouth already sliding down his hardening cock.

He feels Derek shake slightly from repressed laughter and that makes him laugh harder, until Derek has to move back up his body for fear of being kneed in the head. Stiles bites his lip as Derek tries to glare at him before dissolving into giggles when Derek can't hold back a snort of laughter.

Everything's going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully will have the epilogue up by the end of the weekend.


	3. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because life goes on after the happy ending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And done. The shortest part of this whole saga that I've written. It's been a real blast and I've somehow made a bunch of friends and stuff out of this, which was not something I ever imagined happening when I sat down and thought 'I wonder if you could develop a sort of sex buddy system for dub-con?' You're all amazing and make my heart sing and all that. Hopefully I'll get around to the comments one day.
> 
> Note the change in tags - description of the implied dub-con in the end notes.
> 
> This is dedicated to Loz - my biggest fan for now and always - on the occasion of her birthday.

“Come on, Stiles, it's not even your wedding,” Derek says, catching Stiles before he can begin another circuit of their room.

“I know, I know,” Stiles fists his hands in the lapels of Derek's jacket and Derek tries not to wince, Lydia won't approve of the creases. “It's just – it's not every day that your Dad gets remarried. To your best friend's Mom.”

“I thought you were happy for them,” Derek says quietly, rubbing his thumbs at the crease of Stiles' elbows.

“I'm ecstatic,” Stiles says, leaning forward to lean his forehead against Derek's shoulder.

“But?” Derek asks, lifting a hand to stroke through Stiles' hair.

“I'm worried,” Stiles says to Derek's shoulder. “It feels like – this has been a long time coming and it's like the last piece of the puzzle clicking into place and I can't stop myself from worrying it's all been a trick and we'll – that things'll -”

“Stiles,” Derek moves his hand to grip the back of Stiles' neck gently. “The territory is stable. The _pack_ is stable. Nothing's going to happen.”

“You can't promise that,” Stiles mutters and Derek can feel the tension in Stiles' body. He slides his other arm around Stiles's waist and holds him close.

“You're right, I can't,” Derek says, turning his head so he's speaking right into the shell of Stiles' ear. “I can't promise that things will always be like this – that we'll always be safe. I know better than any of you how easily everything can be destroyed -”

“Great pep talk, Derek,” Stiles grumbles into Derek's shoulder. Derek's lips quirk up because he knows Stiles can't see him.

“I wasn't finished,” Derek scolds, squeezing Stiles' neck briefly. “I can't promise you the future, Stiles, but I can promise you today. Erica, Boyd and Isaac are watching the town while Jackson and Danny help Lydia set up. Nothing bad happens today.”

Stiles pulls back in Derek's hold and stares at him wordlessly, his mouth slightly open and his eyes wide. Derek can hear Stiles' heartbeat, the familiar quickened punch of it slowing down as he looks at Derek, and he knows he's helped.

“You -” Stiles doesn't complete the thought. Instead he gets his hands into Derek's hair and pulls him into a kiss that's as bruisingly forceful as it is grateful.

“I am fucking you so hard tonight,” Stiles pulls back enough to whisper before capturing Derek's mouth for a dirty _hot_ kiss. Derek feels his cock twitch with interest as Stiles works a knee between his legs.

“Lydia will kill us if we mess up these suits,” Derek mumbles when Stiles moves to kiss his way down his neck.

“What she doesn't know won't hurt her,” Stiles presses the words into Derek's mouth before dropping to his knees and going straight for Derek's zipper.

“We'll be late,” Derek says, hands going straight to Stiles' hair as Stiles gets Derek's cock out of his briefs.

“Challenge accepted,” Stiles smirks up at him before swallowing Derek down in one easy motion.

“You're a terrible human being,” Derek almost chokes on his words when Stiles gets a hand on his balls. Stiles' answer is to hum around Derek's cock and Derek bucks his hips forward.

Stiles is true to his word – deploying the devastating array of tricks he has at his disposal to drive Derek on and on until he's coming in long motions right down Stiles' throat. His legs nearly go out from under him and he has to brace himself against Stiles' shoulders.

“ _Jesus_ ,” Derek gets out, his voice sounding hoarse and sex-used.

“Do you need me to -” he starts when he's regained enough of his wits. He looks down to see Stiles jerking himself off into a cupped hand, his cock slick and hard. It never ceases to thrill Derek how much Stiles gets off on getting Derek off.

“Just -” Stiles' breath hitches and he tugs at Derek's trouser leg. “Just kiss me.”

Derek drops to his knees and kisses Stiles, tries to get everything into it that he can, and Stiles moans and shudders – his body going still before he comes. The flood of scent makes Derek's cock twitch admirably but he shuts down to urge to push Stiles to the floor and rut against him until he's hard again.

There's been a lot of that since Scott and Allison's wedding.

“Scott's going to be able to smell this, isn't he?” Stiles asks when he's come back to himself. Derek stifles a laugh against Stiles' shoulder.

“Yeah,” he says, pulling back to smile at Stiles. Stiles reaches a hand up to trace Derek's smile, eyes on the path of his fingers, then pulls away to stand up.

“Oh, well,” he says, crossing the room for the tissues they keep by the bed ('What are they for, Uncle Stiles?' 'Well, Navin, they're for if I suddenly get sick in the night. Humans can do that.'). “We'll just call it payback for all the times I'm guessing you could smell Allison on Scott when you really didn't want to.”

They straighten themselves out and Stiles goes for an extra spray of cologne to fend off human senses before leaving.

“Would you want to get married?” Stiles asks on the drive over to the Hill Park.

Derek listens hard for a moment, trying to read some cue in Stiles' body that'll tell him the answer Stiles wants to hear. It's a bad habit that he's trying to break – Stiles keeps telling him that it doesn't matter what Derek tells him so long as it's the truth – but he's been doing it for so long that it's annoyingly hard.

“I -” Derek flexes his hands around the steering wheel and lets out a breath. “I never really thought about it. Not Before – I was young and stupid about -” _about Kate_ “- but I never thought about marriage. After it was sort of the last thing on my mind.”

Stiles is quiet as he digests this and Derek finds himself tapping his thumbs against the steering wheel. He's already picking up Stiles' bad habits.

“What about you?” he asks, turning his head to sneak a glance at Stiles. Stiles looks thoughtful as he looks back at Derek. “Did you think about it?”

“Oh, sure,” he says, suddenly laughing. “You can't tell anyone this, on pain of death, but there used to be a scrapbook under a loose floorboard in my closet at Dad's. It had all my plans for me and Lydia getting married.”

“This sheds new light on your obsession,” Derek says, deadpan. Stiles laughs again and Derek sees him rub the back of his neck from the corner of his eye.

“Yeah, I was creepy as fuck,” Stiles admits, stretching forward to drum his hands on the dash. “And, of course, there was the stuff with Kerri but -”

Stiles stops and goes quiet and Derek resists the urge to pull over just so he can look at him and try to read his face. Stiles makes a noise at himself.

“You're it for me,” Stiles says, hammering a drum sting against the dash. “And I realise that I don't sort of care, now. I'm glad the option's there but. Yeah. I'm happy.”

“Same,” Derek says, risking a look across. Stiles is smiling at him; the small, natural smile that only Derek ever sees.

“Cool,” Stiles says.

“If you ever ask -” Derek adds as the pull up at the park “- I'll say yes.”

“Same,” Stiles says after looking at him for a beat. His mouth twitches up and Derek smiles helplessly back at him.

In a quiet corner of the park Stiles' Dad is waiting with Melissa, Scott and Allison. Judge Greenberg is standing nearby, muttering and gesturing to himself. Like father like son, Derek guesses, the whole Greenberg clan is a bit strange – he remembers that from Before.

(He and Laura used to joke that the Greenbergs had to be something supernatural like them. Every time Mom caught them she sighed and reminded them that humans were, more often than not, more strange than supernaturals.)

“I don't want to know,” the Sheriff says when Stiles opens his mouth to explain why they're five minutes late.

Stiles blushes and Derek has a vivid sense memory of tasting that blush with his tongue two nights ago. Scott makes a gagging face that only Derek sees and Derek casually flips him the bird. Two can play at being childish.

The ceremony is short and sweet and Derek nearly laughs when he realises he didn't know the Sheriff's name was John. He doesn't, though, because beside him Stiles is curiously still and quiet. Derek glances at him subtly and sees slow tears making tracks down Stiles' face. He reaches out without thinking and takes one of Stiles' hands in his. Stiles grips his hand tight enough that it would hurt a human. Derek just leans a little into Stiles' space, doing everything he can to let Stiles know that he's here, and Stiles leans back until their shoulders are pressed closely together.

Scott's reaction is the opposite of Stiles', his grin shining out of his face, and he hugs both John and Melissa close when the ceremony finishes. Derek thinks that might have to do with Scott's absent father and the blatant hero worship he appears to have had for Stiles' Dad all his life. Stiles swallows when Scott reaches out to draw him into the hug and he buries his face in his father neck, his breaths wet and shaky.

Derek walks Melissa back to the car she and John share while Scott and Allison go on ahead to see how the preparations for the party are going. Stiles and John lag behind and Derek tunes them out, not wanting to intrude.

“You know, I'm glad,” Melissa says, leaning against the side of the car when they reach it. Derek raises an eyebrow at her as he tucks his hands into his pockets.

“That Scott decided to trust you in the end,” Melissa clarifies, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. She's beautiful, Derek thinks, and the simple joy in her face makes her look younger than she did when he first met her.

“He wasn't ready,” she continues, looking down at the ground. “To be what you are – what you've become.”

“He'll make a good Alpha one day,” Derek says, shrugging. He says it because he knows it's true and, deep down, he thinks Scott will maybe separate off to build his own pack eventually – a new sort of pack built out of his and Allison's love.

“Can he do that without -” Melissa makes a sharp motion by her throat and lifts her eyebrows.

“It's possible,” Derek says, eyes wandering toward Stiles and John. “The laws governing bitten werewolves are more complicated than they are for born – he's always come close to the power. If he chooses it, it'll come.”

“Will that change things for you and Stiles?” Melissa asks quietly, her eyes following his.

“I don't know,” Derek says. “We'll cross that bridge if we come to it.”

“ _So_ ,” John and Stiles are close enough that Derek can't quite block them out. “ _You and Derek -_ ”

You can see the familial resemblance when John and Stiles are together – when the Sheriff's mantle slips from John's shoulders and he's just Stiles' Dad – and it's never more obvious than when John starts gesturing instead of finishing his sentences.

“ _Dad, come on,_ ” Stiles whines and Derek knows Stiles' cheeks will be flushed red again.

“ _I'm not going to say anything_ ,” John raises his hands. “ _Except 'about time'. I feel like I've been waiting for you two to come around for years._ ”

“ _It was that obvious?_ ” Stiles asks, running his hands through his hair. John claps him on the shoulder and smiles.

“ _Batsignal obvious, kiddo_ ,” John laughs when Stiles groans. “ _I figured you had something to work out between you. I'm just glad you did. Are you happy?_ ”

Stiles looks up and catches Derek watching – Derek doesn't even pretend he wasn't – and smiles at him slowly.

“ _Yeah, Dad_ ,” he says. “ _I'm happy_.”

“Good,” John says, looking over at Derek and nodding.

“That was about you?” Melissa asks, lowering her voice as the Stilinskis come close enough for her to hear too.

“Yeah,” Derek ducks his head.

“Do me a favour and pretend to be scared if John threatens you,” Melissa says, reaching out and patting Derek's shoulder. “He may have figured you two out long before you did but he's still Stiles' Dad.”

“I'll try,” Derek says, smiling at her. Melissa smiles back and turns to climb into the car when John arrives. Derek and John share a nod before John gets into the passenger side.

“You heard?” Stiles asks when they're back in the Camaro.

“Yeah,” Derek nods.

“We weren't hiding it, were we?” Stiles asks, something nervous skittering just under the surface of his voice.

“We weren't,” Derek agrees. “But your Dad and Melissa have been busy with the wedding – we haven't had much time to talk to them.”

“Dad's probably going to threaten you with a shotgun and being the Sheriff and knowing where to hide your body at some point,” Stiles says, huffing out a laugh. “Pretend to be scared.”

“I won't need to pretend,” Derek says, letting out a laugh of his own. “I know Chris provides him with wolfsbane bullets. Melissa asked me to pretend too.”

“Oh, yeah?” Stiles' grin blinds Derek for a moment. “I knew she was the perfect addition to the family.”

Lydia's outdone herself – transforming the Stilinski-McCall backyard into fairy garden (but, importantly, not a _Faerie_ garden) – and is looking smug when Derek and Stiles arrive. Her eyes flicker over the wrinkles in Derek's jacket and, if possible, her smile only becomes more smug. There's people everywhere throughout the house and yard; all the associated pack families, nearly the entire Sheriff's department, John's few friends from outside his job and Scott's Abuela and a whole host of aunts, uncles and cousins who've come to Beacon Hills especially for the wedding.

The food is great and Stiles makes a speech where he very nearly cries, and Scott makes a speech where he does cry, and then there's dancing on a makeshift dancefloor. Derek finds himself swaying along to something slow with Stiles – this time without the barrier of the kids between them – and it feels a little like this year has come full circle.

“What's going on in that head?” Stiles asks, tilting his head to meet Derek's eyes.

“Nothing,” Derek says and it's the honest truth. He's not worrying about anything at all.

He's just dancing with Stiles.

Stiles offers up the little smile again and Derek leans in to capture it. He pulls back at the same time as Stiles stops the dance, both of them turning their heads toward the front of the house. Stiles indefinable 'spark' is like a compass for magic shenanigans and the nearly over-powering scent of rowan means only one thing. Witches. Derek sneezes.

“Morgan?” Stiles asks. Derek nods and Stiles sighs. “Of course. I'd better go see what he wants.”

Derek listens to Stiles as he walks through the party, tracks his footsteps and his heartbeat, until he hears the front door open and shut.

“ _What's up, Morgan, looking a little red there_ ,” Stiles says, because he's an asshole.

The thing about rowan, better known to the pack as Mountain Ash, is that it's almost as bad for witches as it is for werewolves and whenever Morgan comes into pack territory he always carries some. He pretty much breaks out in hives.

It's hilarious.

“ _Not in range of your wolfy friends_ ,” Morgan says and his voice sounds strained.

“ _It's okay, Derek_ ,” Stiles says because he knows Derek always listens. “ _He's pretty much incapacitated himself._ ”

The footsteps head further away and Derek reins his hearing in but keeps himself alert. He'll never wholly trust Morgan, even though the truce has held, and it puts him on edge every time Stiles meets with him.

Stiles comes back in range about five minutes later and something is off about his scent. Derek moves before he even thinks about it and he catches Stiles a few steps into the house. Stiles smells like wolfsbane and Derek can barely touch him for the haze of it around him.

“Stiles,” Derek says, desperately. Stiles' eyes are glazed over as he looks up at Derek and he makes a face.

“Red kryptonite,” he says, reaching his hands up to settle them on either side of Derek's face and Derek mirrors his action. The contact clears Stiles' eyes a little and he shakes his head. “He said, and I quote, 'to put you on an even footing'. I mean. Who even makes this shit work on a human?”

“Assholes like Morgan,” Derek says, indulging in a visceral fantasy of literally ripping Morgan's head off.

He reminds himself that they don't kill humans unless they physically harm the pack. It doesn't help.

“So, hey,” Stiles says as he backs them out of the house, hands pressing hard into Derek's skin. “Wanna be my sex buddy?”

“How do you feel?” Derek asks, feeling strange being on the other side of this situation. “What do you need?”

“You,” Stiles says, leaning up to whisper into Derek's ear. “In me. Soon. Before I embarrass myself at my Dad's reception.”

“I can do that,” Derek says, turning his head and catching Stiles in a brief kiss. “Okay?”

Stiles smiles at him, slow and filthy. “Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Implied Dub-Con: Stiles is sex wolfsbaned at the very end of the story but the story closes before it's acted upon. As with all previous dub-con scenarios some verbal consent regarding the situation is given.
> 
> Come check me out on Tumblr (JenTNova) - occasionally I remember to post updates about what I'm writing but more pertinent to this story: I'm taking asks about any little bits and pieces that are referenced in the story but were never fleshed out for you. And, yes, before anyone asks - I'll be writing about the Millar family as my first task. :D

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Fanart] Like You’re The Moon](https://archiveofourown.org/works/804653) by [wielka_mi_mecyja](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wielka_mi_mecyja/pseuds/wielka_mi_mecyja)
  * [Famous Last Words - Easy EReader](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3345224) by [VRios](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VRios/pseuds/VRios)




End file.
